


The Accidental Malfoy

by Rumaan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Artificial Insemination, Divorce, Drama, F/M, Pregnancy, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 01:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 80,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumaan/pseuds/Rumaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione is fed up of seeing her friends leave her behind. She's thirty, alone and broody. Not one to wait around, she decides to take matters into her own hands and have the child she's always wanted. The resulting pregnancy is far from what she expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Decision

**Author's Note:**

> A massive thank you to arosesinnocence who has spent many hours sorting out the first three chapters of this story. It's only with her help and many suggestions that this first chapter can be posted. It would have been the world's most boring story without her input!

Ginny put tea and biscuits on the table. Harry had invited Hermione around for a mid-week meal earlier that day in the Ministry. She'd jumped at the opportunity as her other food option that night was a frozen pizza she bought over the weekend. 

“Not that I’m complaining or anything, but what’s the reason for this impromptu get-together tonight?” Hermione asked.

“We have some news, and since you are unable to attend the Weasley lunch this Sunday, we thought we would tell you earlier than everyone,” Harry said.

“I’m pregnant,” Ginny jumped in excitedly.

“Oh, Ginny, that’s amazing,” Hermione said. “How long have you known?”

“I’m only eight weeks in, but you know us, we’re always too excited to keep it a secret until the first trimester has passed.”

Hermione squeezed Ginny into a tight hug and gave Harry a peck on the cheek. She was genuinely excited for them, but part of her felt desperately sad as she realised that Harry and Ginny would be having yet another child. It wasn’t their fault that she was so broody, but she failed to see how she couldn’t be, when she kept seeing her friends adding more and more babies to their families. 

After a decent amount of time had passed, Hermione excused herself to go to the bathroom. She was trying her hardest to appear bubbly and cheerful about the news, but all she could think was that this was yet another baby that wouldn’t be hers. Harry and Ginny already had James and Albus, so this would be their third child. 

Ginny and Harry had become serious as soon as the war had finished. They got engaged just before Ginny returned to Hogwarts for her final year. Harry would have married her as soon as she completed her education, but Ginny had held out until she turned twenty-one. They were both young, and Ginny didn’t see the need to be in such a rush. Hermione fully supported her decision. James was born not long afterwards. 

Hermione washed her face and patted it dry. She checked it for telling signs that she’d just shed a few tears, but her eyes looked fine; there was no puffiness or blotchy red skin to give her away. As she walked back downstairs, she couldn’t help but overhear the conversation going on between Ginny and Harry.

“That new Auror you have at the office; he’s gorgeous,” Ginny commented.

Hermione stopped and peeked through the open doorway. It wasn’t polite to eavesdrop, but she had a gut feeling that this was about her.

Harry looked at his wife suspiciously. “I can’t say I’ve noticed, but why does it matter?”

“Don’t you think he’d be perfect for Hermione? We could invite them both around for dinner and see where it takes them,” Ginny suggested. 

Harry shook his head. “When are you and Molly going to stop nagging at Hermione about this? She’ll find someone in her own time; let her be.”

Ginny sighed. “She’s not getting any younger, Harry, and she might not admit it, but she’s lonely. I thought she was going to cry when we just told her I was pregnant again. She’s not making any effort to date anyone.”

“This is Hermione, and she’s stubborn. The more you go on at her about meeting someone, the more closed off she’s going to be towards it. Besides, she’s different. Most guys don’t get that. They just think she’s bossy and a know-it-all. And a lot of them are intimidated by the prominent role she played in the war. She needs someone confident, who isn’t afraid to let her be herself. ”

Hermione agreed with Harry’s assessment - she wasn’t going to respond to constant nagging about her love life. He did know her well, but she couldn’t help feel even more depressed than before when she went to the bathroom. She also felt sad that she hadn’t fooled either of them. She didn’t resent their having another child at all. She was happy that they were so content, but she wanted to be in the same position.

\----------------------------

Hermione stood outside the front of the De Braun Medical Clinic in Switzerland and tried to quell the butterflies in her stomach. She had twenty minutes until her appointment began, but she was nervous. Part of her was telling her to run far away and not take such a life-changing step, but the part of her that pushed her into this situation was shouting at her to step through the door and just do it.

This is why Hermione Granger was currently standing outside of the discreet entrance to Europe’s premier wizarding fertility clinic and dithering. 

She hadn’t felt her biological clock ticking until she hit thirty. There was something about that number that was scary. She remembered being little and thinking that thirty was ancient. When she was twenty, thirty had seemed miles off. Being young and carefree, and not long out of Hogwarts with massive N.E.W.T scores, she made a list of where she’d be at thirty. Of course, her career was pretty high on the list. She predicted that she would be the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement by the time she hit thirty. That hadn’t quite come true, but it was widely known that Hermione was pretty much a shoo-in to replace the current Head. Mentally checking back through the list, she was reminded that she had placed ‘wife’ and ‘mother’ on it as well. It wasn’t as high as ‘career,’ which made Hermione feel a little better, but it was on there, nevertheless.

Hermione found this list a few weeks after she turned thirty when she moved to a bigger place. She realised then that she wanted a child, whether or not she had a stable partner, but she didn’t want to go out and hook up with any guy in order to get pregnant. She’d rather it was done officially in a sterile laboratory where the father could not come along and claim visiting rights afterwards. Hermione wanted to be a mum, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be a wife. 

So that is what led to her standing outside the clinic in Switzerland, wringing her hands and debating whether to go through with it. She had already nearly left several times. She wasn’t sure that she could go through with this. The nerves were making her nauseous and she hadn’t felt this anxious since the war. It was such a huge decision, but she felt that it was necessary. She paced before the entrance as she continued to debate with herself over whether or not to go in. The sensible side of her was suggesting she go home, put her feet up and have a nice cup of tea. _This isn’t you_ , it nagged at her. The more reckless side pointed out how tired she was of being left behind. She had a successful career and a great circle of friends, but that was it. She was the only one who didn’t have a significant partner. Her reckless side won out.

Hermione took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The lobby was precisely how she pictured it would be. The chocolate brown leather sofas looked expensive and comfortable whilst the cream walls had original artwork hanging on them. There was a pin board next to the reception desk that had pictures of babies along with thank you cards. This gave the room a homier feel. This reassured her somewhat. The photographs of babies gurgling away gave her a warm feeling. It made her think she was making the right decision.

Hermione let the receptionist know she was there, then sat and sipped the cup of tea that was brought over to her. She flicked through the various available newspapers and magazines and tried not to laugh too much about how utterly ordinary this waiting process was. It was almost as if she was at the dentist for a regular tooth check rather than to discuss artificial insemination with a doctor. 

She was called through to see her consultant, Dr. Nicola Hedges. Artificial insemination had developed in the Muggle world, and magic had made only a few changes to the process. The Healers who wanted to specialise in this area had to undertake a Muggle medical degree. Hermione wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt before offering her hand for Dr. Hedges to shake. 

“Ms. Granger, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Dr. Hedges said before ushering her to seat on the other side of her desk. Hermione made the usual greetings and sat down.

“Now, a lot of what we are going to discuss today is technical, but I want to run you through the various medical options that are open to you,” Dr. Hedges started. “There are several ways to impregnate you artificially. The first, and mostly widely used procedure, is Intracervical Insemination. This replicates the natural way that semen is ejaculated by the penis during intercourse and this is the option that I would recommend for you,” Dr. Hedges explained.

Hermione couldn’t help it, but she wanted to giggle; the anxiety of the whole process getting to her. This was all being explained to her in such a matter-of-fact way, and all she could think of was how Ron would just stare open-mouthed at the doctor if he were there. She cleared her throat and looked down at her notepad. She had a pressing question on this, one that had been worrying her since she read up on the process. “Sorry to interrupt, Dr. Hedges, but I had heard that timing was critical with this particular procedure. In one of the books I read, it suggested that there is only a twelve-hour window of opportunity for me to get pregnant.”

“Well, it is a little bit more complicated than that, but if we can pin-point your optimum time of fertility, then of course, the chances of you getting pregnant increase.”

“Is this something you do? I’ve seen those home ovulation kits.”

“Yes, we will be doing tests to map your menstrual cycle.”

Hermione nodded again and flicked a page in her notebook. Dr. Hedges went through three other methods of artificial insemination, but since all of those had more specific stipulations and restrictions, Hermione decided to take Dr. Hedges’ recommendation. 

Once the technicalities were out of the way, Dr. Hedges led Hermione through to a small sitting room. This was the bit that she had been dreading the most. Talking through the actual process was fine. It was clinical and pretty detached from what was really happening, but choosing a sperm donor was going to be hard. 

“This is the room where we keep all the information on our sperm donors. As you can see, we try to make this as comfortable an experience as possible for you. Have you given much thought to the criteria you are looking for in a sperm donor?”

“Yes, I know what I’m looking for,” she replied. She had her list, and she had come into this with her eyes wide open. She wasn’t looking for the superficial things like height, eye colour, and hair colour. She was more interested in IQ test scores and careers. She wanted the very best for her potential child, and that meant matching her intellect with someone on a similar scale.

“We do offer a selection of Muggle donors as well. They, of course, are all successful in some form or another.”

“Oh, I want a wizard for a father, otherwise I probably would have done this in the Muggle world,” Hermione informed Dr. Hedges. She’d rather have the biological father be another wizard. It was silly, since it wouldn’t make any difference to the magical abilities of the child if only one parent was magical, but, though she didn’t know why, she just felt more comfortable keeping this whole process in the wizarding world. 

“Okay. Well, take your time in looking through the various biographies. We don’t rush anyone during this process. You may call the receptionist should you want any tea or coffee, and when you have made your selection.”

Again, Hermione felt the urge to giggle. It was almost as if she was picking out a sofa or a kitchen, rather than the father of her child. 

In the end, she went for a Healer. She thought that complemented her skill set nicely. He was also of medium height and had brown hair and brown eyes. She liked this fact. It would mean the baby was likely to be born with brown eyes and hair like her, and, for some reason, that mattered to her. Probably because she thought of this baby as wholly hers, even if that wasn’t biologically possible.

With everything completed, Hermione was back on her way to London. She booked her two appointments for next month, and she would be spending a week in Switzerland on the pretext that she was going skiing. This would give her the time to create a back-story for the holiday romance she planned on using to explain her pregnancy. She didn’t want anyone to know that she had gone through with something as drastic as artificial insemination. Her family and friends would be extremely vocal in their disapproval, and then there would be the inevitable attempts to try and set her up with other single friends. She wasn’t willing to go through the whole exhausting process, only to find that there was still no baby at the end of it.

\-------------------------

Six weeks later, Hermione was back in Switzerland. It was time, and she was understandably nervous.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this, Hermione?” Dr. Hedges asked. “It isn’t too late to turn back.”

“I’m sure,” she said firmly, and she really was. Actually, she was little excited. She had a tingly feeling when she thought about the future now. She had made a decision that would change everything forever, and she was looking forward to it.

“Now, you also understand that artificial insemination isn’t guaranteed to get you pregnant?” Dr. Hedges asked. Hermione nodded her head. “We use similar methods to the Muggles, but instead of using Muggle drugs to increase your chances of becoming pregnant, we use a fertility potion, which we have found to be more effective. This potion will have no detrimental effects on the foetus should you conceive. Everything has been prepared for the procedure and the insemination will take only a few minutes. However, we ask that you lie down and stay still for at least thirty minutes afterwards. This will decrease any risk of semen leakage and increase conception chances,” Dr. Hedges informed her.

Hermione wrinkled her nose up at that. She was prepared for this, but having it outlined in such a way was strange. She obviously knew that she needed semen in order to become pregnant, but it was the weirdness of it all. The semen would be a stranger’s and would be inserted using a needle. It was the complete opposite to how she had imagined herself getting pregnant before making this decision.

\------------------------

Hermione lay on the hospital bed, trying not to think about what was going on inside her uterus at this moment in time. She really didn’t want to inflate her hopes of getting pregnant the very first time. She knew that biology wasn’t that straightforward and that it could take her several attempts to get pregnant, but she couldn’t help the frisson of hope that swept through her. If all went well, then this time next year, she’d have a little baby of her own. She would no longer be Hermione Granger, the woman who lived for work. She’d be Hermione Granger, mother to little Iris Granger.

She really hoped she’d have a little girl, and she’d chosen the name Iris since it meant “hope” in the language of flowers. Iris was also a Greek goddess, a messenger who linked the gods to humanity. Hermione liked that. She, herself, had given up so much so that humanity would flourish, and her name was from Greek mythology as well. 

She rubbed her lower stomach and kept her fingers crossed for the entire thirty minutes. She really didn’t want to have to go through this process again. She also didn’t want to have to keep inventing holiday romances to account for her weekend getaways. It made no sense for her to come from Switzerland acting as if she hadn’t met anyone, then a month or so down the line, spring that not only had she had a fling, but also she was pregnant because of it.

\------------------------

“What’s going on with you, Hermione?” Ginny asked as Hermione pottered around the kitchen making them lunch.

Poor Ginny was absolutely knackered. Having two active boys during the early stage of pregnancy, when all you wanted to do was sleep, was never easy. It didn’t help that Harry had been promoted to Head of the Auror Department and had started working long hours and on the weekend. Ginny didn’t mind. She was proud of Harry, and she also had a large family who helped out whenever they could. At the moment, James and Albus were staying with Molly, who always had at least one of her grandchildren visiting at any time, since she couldn’t bear for the Burrow to be empty.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Well, since you returned from Switzerland, you’ve had all this suppressed excitement going on,” Ginny commented.

Hermione smiled. She obviously couldn’t say what was really going on but it was time to start spreading the back-story. “I met a guy out there,” she said.

Ginny sat up a lot straighter. “Start talking,” she commanded. “Now!”

“Well his name is Thibault, and he’s French, obviously,” she said. 

“Promising,” Ginny commented. “What does he look like?”

“He was tall, dark, and handsome,” Hermione said in a mock dreamy voice. “And we had a fabulous holiday fling.”

“Fling?” Ginny said in a disappointed voice.

“Oh yes, it wasn’t anything serious. But I realised it had been so long since, well, you know, and he was flirting with me with his delicious French accent, and one thing led to another...”

“So, you aren’t planning on seeing him again?” the redhead asked.

“Oh no, it was very much no strings attached. I really don’t need the complication of a long-distance relationship right now,” she blithely fibbed.

“Oh,” Ginny said distractedly. Hermione knew what was coming next. Molly and Ginny had been nagging at her for years and her friend didn’t disappoint. “Hermione, when are you going to look to settle down? Even Neville’s married.”

Hermione sighed. The most annoying thing in the wizarding world was the inherent conservatism. Marriage was very much de rigueur. It was unusual for a witch to not be in a serious relationship by the age of thirty. “Ginny, you know I have plans to be the next Dumbledore. I’m going to grow to a great age and be the best Headmistress that Hogwarts has ever had,” she teased.

Ginny just rolled her eyes. An answer like that from Hermione meant that she wasn’t prepared to enter into this conversation. Ginny couldn’t help but be worried about her though. Hermione was beginning to lock herself away in her office.

\-----------------------

Hermione felt her excitement rise as she returned to Switzerland. She scheduled a pregnancy test once her period was late. She was three days over-due, and that had never happened to her before. Well, except for the time that she was hunting horcruxes with Harry and Ron. She had regularly missed months of periods then, from the sheer stress and terror of it all.

Dr. Hedges invited her into her office. “Hermione, we have good news. You’re pregnant.”

Hermione felt her eyes well up with tears. She smiled somewhat tremulously at Dr. Hedges. “Thank you so much,” she said, for once unsure of what to say. She couldn’t believe it. It had actually worked, and on the first time, too. She had spent the last month suppressing any excitement. She told herself that she wasn’t pregnant and that she would probably need several treatments before it worked.

“Now,” Dr. Hedges said. “You’ll need to contact your GP when you return home. They will then be able to give you advice and support on the next steps of your pregnancy.”

She was at a bit of a loss now. She spent so much time focusing on how she was actually going to get pregnant that she hadn’t spent any time on what would happen once she got pregnant. “Is there much difference between Muggle care and magical care?” she asked, wanting some initial basic information.

Dr. Hedges shook her head. “Not really, no. The main difference is with the pain relief you’ll be offered during labour. Obviously St. Mungo’s stocks pain potions rather than epidurals or gas. But the care during pregnancy will be very similar. You’ll be visiting a community midwife who will talk you through any concerns you may have, as well as checking the baby’s heartbeat and measuring the size of your stomach. You will obviously go to the hospital for any scans.”

Hermione nodded. So far, it all seemed very usual. She had missed out on a lot of this with Ginny, since she usually took her mother with her for these things. Not that Hermione blamed her. She would probably want Molly around to help her prepare, too. There was something reassuring about a woman who had managed to give birth seven times; once to twins. 

She thanked Dr. Hedges and went on her way. She rubbed her stomach. “Hello, little Iris,” she whispered. “I can’t wait to meet you.”

Hermione decided to wait to before telling anyone she was pregnant. It was probably the hardest thing she’d ever done. She wanted to shout the news from the rooftops, because she was that excited, and it had only been a week since she found out, but she also knew the greatest chance of miscarriage happened in the first twelve weeks of pregnancy, and she wanted to get through this stage before saying anything. So far she had assuaged her desire to talk about it by buying lots of baby and pregnancy books.

\----------------

A week later, Hermione woke up to the insistent pecking of an owl on one of her windows. She rolled over and then lurched up as her stomach decided to flip itself inside out. Wow, she felt so sick. She sprinted to the bathroom where she proceeded to retch without actually vomiting. She couldn’t decide which was worse, actually vomiting, or all the dry heaving that left her throat sore and didn’t do anything to quell her nausea. “What are you doing to me, Iris?” she moaned as she wiped her clammy forehead with a flannel.

She then stumbled out to the kitchen to let the owl, which was still pecking at her window non-stop, in. “Ok, calm down. Haven’t you heard that patience is a virtue?” she lectured the owl as it fluttered into the window and ruffled its feathers in annoyance at her. She removed the parchment and gave the owl some bread. 

_Dear Ms. Granger,_

_After looking through our laboratory records, we have noticed a few discrepancies with your file and would like to schedule an appointment as soon as possible with you. If you could owl me a range of dates and times that suit you, we can then arrange a meeting._

_Thank you in advance for your time and co-operation._

_Yours sincerely,_  
Sebastian De Braun  
Director 

Hermione read the brief letter several times before she digested its contents. Her heart was pounding as her mind quickly thought through several worst-case scenarios. All she could think was that there was a possibility of her unborn baby having some terrible genetic defect that had only just come to light through the sperm donor. She turned green for a brief minute before dashing back to the bathroom and promptly and spectacularly throwing up.


	2. The Terrible News

Hermione wiped her sweaty palms on her trousers. She didn’t think she had been this nervous in her life, and that included taking her N.E.W.T. exams. Her heart was pounding, and her stomach hadn’t truly settled since she’d received the letter. She wished she could blame it all on the morning sickness, but her increasing anxiety about her upcoming appointment wasn’t helping matters. The last two days had been a nightmare. She'd spent the majority of her waking hours playing out terrible scenarios. This resulted in her tossing and turning when she should have been sleeping, and she now had huge black bags under her eyes and unruly hair to testify to it.

She pushed the clinic door open and was immediately greeted by the smiling receptionist. Hermione couldn’t help looking towards the pin board of smiling babies. What if this news was some awful genetic disease that saw her having to terminate her pregnancy? What if there was a complication that meant she couldn’t have any more children? Hermione felt clawing despair at this thought.

Instead of waiting in the reception area today, she was escorted straight to the Director’s office, which only added to her nervousness. However, she supposed this was protocol with any incident this grave. 

“Mademoiselle Granger,” a tall Germanic man said, coming across the room to shake her hand.

“Mr. De Braun,” Hermione replied.

“Please, call me Sebastian,” he smiled.

Hermione smiled and offered the same courtesy. She sat in the chair opposite Sebastian’s rather impressive desk and rubbed her stomach. It had become quite a habit recently.

“Hermione, I do apologise for having to bring you back to the clinic after your treatment was so successful,” Sebastian started.

“I hope you’ll forgive my rudeness, but as you can imagine, I’m pretty anxious. Would you mind cutting to the chase and telling me what happened?” she asked honestly.

Sebastian looked a little taken aback. He probably had a whole spiel prepared. “Yes, of course, I understand this must be very nerve wracking for you.”

Hermione smiled and nodded her head encouragingly. “Unfortunately, there was a mix-up in the laboratory with our sperm samples. It seems that the sperm you chose from your particular donor was mixed up with another client,” Sebastian explained.

Her initial reaction was overwhelming relief. This was something she could deal with. So her ideal sperm donor wasn’t the father of her child. It wasn’t as if they had any undesirables on their books. Every sperm donor was rigorously checked and vetted. Maybe the father was sporty rather than academic. That wasn’t so terrible. Her child would have a chance of at least being able to fly a broom competently.

“Is it possible to see the file of the donor whose sperm I now have?” she asked, surprised with how remarkably calm she sounded. The writhing snakes were still present in her stomach, but she was feeling a great deal more positive than she had during the past few days. 

Sebastian looked a little uncomfortable. “Well, I’m sorry to say, but this is where it starts to get a little complicated, Hermione.” 

“What do you mean?” she asked, wondering how much more complicated this could possibly get.

“It’s that the sperm that was mixed up with your intended sample wasn’t from a sperm donor, but a potential father - a father who very much wants to be part of his child’s life.”

Her head spun. She couldn’t cope with this right now. “But I specifically decided on sperm donation because I don’t want the biological father playing any part in my child’s life.”

Sebastian spread his hands out. “I truly am sorry, Hermione. All I can do is refund the money that you paid and offer to put you in contact with a good legal advisor.”

She wasn’t particularly pleased with this. “So are you suggesting that the biological father of my child will seek contact?” 

Sebastian sadly nodded his head. “Indeed, Mademoiselle. I know that is precisely what this client will do. He made that very clear during the meeting we had yesterday. So far we have kept your identity a secret. That will only be revealed to the other client once it has gone before a court.”

She closed her eyes in despair. This was turning into a disaster. Okay, so it still wasn’t as bad as a genetic disease, but there was now talk of court proceedings. She had not factored a father into her new life. It was always going to be just her and little Iris. Now, there was potentially a court case in order to keep the biological father out of her baby’s life. Oh, Merlin, a court case meant that it would be splashed all over the news and everyone would know how she got pregnant. Witch Weekly, Rita Skeeter in particular, was constantly trying to ferret out gossip regarding the ‘Golden Trio.’ This would warrant a spiteful lead article from Skeeter.

Then there would be the disappointment from Harry, Ron, and Ginny. They wouldn’t understand why she had gone down this route when she constantly turned down their attempts to match-make her with their friends and colleagues. Ginny had even offered to set her up with one of her old Harpies teammates. Hermione had firmly rejected that offer, reassuring her friend that she wasn’t suppressing any homosexual tendencies. Hermione was worrying about her parents more than anyone else. They would be really confused by her decision. 

She was pulled out of her thoughts by the sound of the office door banging open. She turned around in alarm to see an angry Draco Malfoy seething in the doorway. The receptionist was wringing her hands behind him. “I couldn’t stop him, Monsieur De Braun.”

“Monsieur Malfoy, you cannot just barge in here,” Sebastian protested.

“Yes, I can. I refuse to be fobbed off with weak platitudes regarding the ethics of giving me the woman’s name. This is my child we’re talking about,” he said angrily.

Hermione groaned as the implications of Malfoy’s speech crashed in on her. She was having a baby with Draco Malfoy. She felt like crying. This whole decision was coming back to bite her on the arse.

“Monsieur Malfoy, I’ve explained to you several times, that due to Mademoiselle Granger’s legal contract, I cannot divulge her identity unless given a specific court order to do so,” the flustered Director said. 

_Way to go!_ she thought. _You did just that_. Sebastian seemed to realise this at the same time and he turned in apology to Hermione with a look of horror on his face. She couldn’t bring herself to get upset. Malfoy was standing in the same room as her, and it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t recognise her. She slewed round in her chair to face the hard glare of her school nemesis.

\-------------

Draco Malfoy cursed as he took in the woman sitting opposite the Director. This could not be happening to him. It was bad enough that his plans about fatherhood had gone awry, but now he discovered that the witch he’d gotten pregnant was none other than Hermione Granger - the bane of his Hogwarts existence. He observed the woman who was now carrying the next Malfoy heir. She didn’t appear to have changed much since school. Her hair was still an untameable mess, and, unlike many other girls, she wasn’t too concerned about wearing make-up to improve her looks. She looked him up and down with that swotty, stuck-up expression she seemed to reserve for Slytherins, and himself in particular.

“If you don’t mind, Monsieur Malfoy, I would like to continue to explain the situation to Mademoiselle Granger here. If you would please wait in reception, we can discuss your options afterwards,” De Braun said. 

Draco quirked his right eyebrow. He didn’t respond well to taking orders. “Malfoy, get out,” Granger snapped at him.

“I don’t need to speak to you, De Braun,” he said, ignoring Granger’s command completely. “Just make sure there is a room where Granger and I can talk afterwards.”

“I’m afraid I need Mademoiselle Granger’s permission for that.”

She looked as if she’d dearly love to refuse. Draco decided to make her mind up for her. “Granger, you and I _will_ have this discussion. We can do it here, away from prying eyes and ears, or I’ll track you down somewhere a lot more public.”

She glared at him, but obviously knew him well enough to realise he would carry out his threat. “Okay, I agree to speak to Malfoy after we conclude this meeting,” she said formally to De Braun. 

Draco nodded curtly at both occupants of the room before following the clearly relieved receptionist out of the room. She settled back behind her desk and continued on with her work, occasionally shooting him disapproving looks. 

He sighed. His father was going to have kittens, and Astoria was going to throw the largest hissy fit yet. He frowned upon thinking about his wife. He was in this mess because of her.

Draco sneered at the collection of magazines on the table in front of him. He didn’t want to be pissing around waiting for Granger. He had things to do. He needed to make sure he had scenarios for all situations and possible ramifications in place. This just wasn’t allowed to go any further wrong than it already had.

The receptionist’s telephone rang. She walked over to him. “Mademoiselle Granger has finished her meeting now,” she informed him. 

He stood and followed the receptionist through to a small consulting room. He pursed his lips as he saw that Granger had placed herself behind the desk. Her stern expression reminded him of McGonagall, and he felt as if he was a naughty student about to be reprimanded. Well, he wasn’t playing that game. He shut the door in the receptionist’s face and leant back against it.

\-------------

Hermione frowned as she took in Malfoy’s looming presence across the room with his arms folded and a deep frown on his face. The anxiety of her situation flooded back.

“You wanted to talk, Malfoy.” she opened, as it seemed the Slytherin was just content to glare at her.

He stalked closer, and she couldn’t help but curl up a little protectively over her stomach. “Don’t even think about harming me or the baby,” she said in a panic.

Malfoy scoffed at her and pulled out the chair opposite hers. “Nice to know that you think I’m that depraved,” he remarked.

Hermione gave him a scornful look. “If I do think that way about you, then it may be because my acquaintance with you has shown me how unkind you are. And no, I will not have an abortion,” she said, determined to get that idea out of his head now. 

He ignored this completely. “How many weeks pregnant are you?”

“Seven,” she replied.

“Does your partner know that it’s not his baby?”

And there it was: the bit she was dreading having to explain, especially to someone who’d spent a large part of his life tormenting her. “I don’t have a partner,” she mumbled.

Malfoy leaned closer to her. “What was that, Granger? I couldn’t quite catch your whisper.”

“I don’t have a partner,” she snapped and glared at him.

His eyebrows rose at that. “So you don’t have a partner? Why are you at a fertility clinic, then?”

“Just because I don’t have someone in my life doesn’t mean I don’t want a child,” she snarled.

“You got pregnant by sperm donation,” he deduced and started laughing.

Hermione pushed her chair out and stood up. “I’m not having this conversation with you, Malfoy. My pregnancy is none of your business.”

“Oh, calm down, Granger, and sit back down. Unless it has escaped your attention, you are carrying my child there, therefore it is very much my business.”

“No, it’s not,” she said emphatically. “You may be the biological father, but you will have nothing to do with this child.”

He stood and braced his hands on the desk and leaned menacingly into her face. “If you think I’m going to just skip out of your life and let you raise the Malfoy heir by yourself, then you need to think again,” he growled.

“Just go and make another deposit of sperm and impregnate whichever unfortunate female you had picked out to be the mother of your precious heir,” she bit back, crossing her arms defensively.

Hermione watched as a myriad of emotions crossed Malfoy’s face. He was usually so closed off and reserved that you never got to really know what he was thinking, but she could see anger, disappointment, and sadness pass across his face. “It’s a little more complicated than that, and I don’t see why I should have to explain it to you.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “For the same reasons you just gave me. You’re the father of my baby, so I think I get to know what’s so complicated. Besides, aren’t you married? Can’t you just deposit another sample with your wife?”

Hermione was taken aback by the rage that infused his face. Was there something more to his marriage than just fertility problems? He appeared to battle with it for a few seconds before the Malfoy poker face was back. “I don’t know what kind of man you think I am, but there is no way I’m just going to conveniently disappear knowing that my son is out there and doesn’t know his own father.”

“Do I really have to answer that? You were a monumental prick at Hogwarts, and I’m hardly likely to think that you would welcome a little half-blood child with open arms.” she spat out. “Besides, won’t it cause problems amongst your circle knowing that there is a half-blood Malfoy? The purest of pure-blood lines will have ended.”

“Doesn’t make a difference; a half-blood Malfoy exists now whether I like it or not,” Malfoy said.

“No one has to know. It could be our secret,” she pleaded, hoping that Malfoy would treasure his pure-blood heritage over any potential child, and if she was stuck with the worst luck and found herself with a baby who looked like Malfoy, then she’d find a way to explain it away.

“No! I won’t let you just walk away. I want to see my child,” he insisted.

Hermione was tired, and a headache was developing. She hadn’t managed to eat very much before attending this meeting; the morning sickness and the anxiety caused her stomach to reject everything but an apple. “Well, you can’t. I deliberately went for sperm donation so I wouldn’t have the complication of a father,” she said.

“I don’t care. That’s your problem, not mine. I will be a part of this child’s life.”

“No, you won’t,” she argued. “My contract with the clinic states that the sperm donor has no rights to try to contact me or the child.”

“I think that’s the clinic’s mistake and my contract nullifies that term, Granger,” Malfoy said smugly.

“We’ll see about that,” she snapped, getting to her feet and flouncing out of the room.

“I hope you have good legal representation, Granger,” he called after her. 

The Malfoy family had come out of the war pretty much scot-free. Despite everyone knowing that Lucius Malfoy had lied about being under the _Imperius_ curse during the Voldemort’s first reign of terror, and that he had been present at Voldemort’s side since his resurrection, he and Draco had avoided being sent to Azkaban. The Wizengamot had spared them this ignominy, much to Hermione’s disgust. Their reputation had been tarnished at least, and they spent a few years on the sidelines whilst those they considered inferior, like Hermione, rose to the top. 

However, with some well-placed donations and some exemplary behaviour, Lucius was once more seen around the corridors of the Ministry. Draco managed to wrangle his way onto the Board of Governors at Hogwarts and had several business interests in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. The Malfoy fingers were very much back in the pie, and Hermione hated it. It was infuriating, and now she was going to have to go up against the might of the Malfoys by herself. She wasn’t sure she had the fight in her when she was so sick and depressed. She Apparated back to her flat and lay on the sofa crying.

\-------------

Meanwhile, Draco was frustrated. Why did the mistake have to happen with the world’s most stubborn witch? One thing worked in his favour; at least she wasn’t in a relationship with someone. A single mother was easier to fight in court than someone with a husband, or a long-term partner.

Thanks to the Malfoy’s innate ability to keep their personal lives extremely private, none but Astoria’s immediate family knew of the problems in their marriage. He planned to keep her around just until he won custody of the child, and then he would dump her. The Greengrasses wouldn’t complain, since Draco owned their family business, and if they wanted to maintain their wealth and their position in society, then they would keep their mouths firmly shut. 

However, upon noticing how tired Granger was, he thought that maybe a little bit of pressure would work in order for him to get his way. He might even be able to take full custody of the child and pay for her to have more treatment so she could have another baby afterwards. It wasn’t as if she was attached to this one because it was the result of a loving relationship - she’d gone for sperm donation, after all. 

That thought brought Draco to the perplexing topic of why. He couldn’t say he’d seen much of Granger or her numbskull friends after the war. He learned all he needed to know from the Daily Prophet’s incessant reporting on the Trio after the war. He knew that Potter had taken over running the Auror Department not that long ago, whilst Weasley, being the dead-beat that he was, was working as a minion for his brother. However, news about Granger had been scarcer, since she kept herself out of the limelight. All he knew was that she did something pretty high-up in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She had written and passed several laws promoting the well being of house-elves, which had made his father curse her pretty roundly. They ended up having to free their house-elves and offer to pay them. It was certainly something that no Malfoy would have dreamt of doing on his own. 

Not that Malfoy cared one way or another, but it was strange to see her reduced to sperm donation to get the child she so seemingly desired. Well, she was truly mistaken if she thought that she was going to be able to deny him access to his child. It wasn’t happening. Draco Apparated back to the Manor. He needed to speak to his father and organise what to do next.


	3. The Awful Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to arosesinnocence for all her work on this chapter.

Hermione wasn’t one to cry for long periods of time. If she had been, then she would never have recovered from her first awful couple of months at Hogwarts, and, if her initial isolation at Hogwarts didn’t get her down, she certainly wasn’t going to allow Draco Malfoy and his threats to stop her now. She realised that she was going to have to do what she never wanted to do: tell her friends exactly how she had become pregnant. Oh, and tell them that she was pregnant in the first place.

She heaved herself off the sofa and washed the tears from her face. These hormones were going to be the death of her. She sat at her desk and pulled some parchment and a quill toward her. She debated for a brief while on whether she should tell Harry and Ginny and let them pass on the news to Ron. Ron was volatile at the best of times, and his temper when it came to Malfoy was never stable, but both Harry and Ron were her best friends, and she knew how hurtful it was when you were the one cut out. So, she penned a missive to both asking them to come over to her flat tomorrow evening for dinner. That would then give her twenty-four hours to prepare exactly what she was going to say to them, which wouldn’t be easy. 

Hermione cursed her luck once more. Why Malfoy of all people? Couldn’t it have been a mix-up with another sperm donor, or someone who was willing to act as a sperm donor for this child and allow the clinic to pay for the next treatment for free? No, she had to get the world’s biggest git as her child’s father; one who didn’t want to bury his tainted half-blood baby under the rug. She rubbed her forehead; maybe he would see reason once he spoke to his father. She couldn’t imagine that Lucius Malfoy would be at all happy at the inclusion of a non-pureblood baby into the Malfoy family tree. 

Hermione couldn’t help but feel a little curious that Malfoy was seeking fertility treatment. She had always thought the pureblood inbreeding would end up coming to bite them on the backside. The gene pool for pureblood witches and wizards was too narrow these days. Even blood traitors like the Weasleys were related to the majority of the blood supremacist families. The emphasis on keeping your line pure couldn’t continue for much longer without severe consequences to the children, and it seemed that, in Malfoy’s case, it meant that he was struggling to conceive a child. She tried not to snigger at this but couldn’t help it. She felt mean afterwards, but really - Malfoy, the boy who had been so arrogant about his magical heritage, needed Muggle-developed technology to keep his so-very-pure bloodlines going. It was amusing when you looked at it that way.

She hadn’t paid too much attention to the Malfoys after their trial after the war. She was annoyed at the injustice of them avoiding prison. She could forgive Narcissa Malfoy not going to prison. She lied to Voldemort and gave Harry the opportunity to catch the psychopath unaware and kill him, but, in her opinion, Lucius and Draco Malfoy certainly deserved a stint in Azkaban. Draco pleaded that he was under duress when he became a Death Eater. Unfortunately, he had a point. He was ordered to kill Dumbledore, and his family would have been killed if he failed. However, she couldn’t have imagined the sixteen-year-old swaggering little prat refusing the Dark Mark anyway. He probably considered it a big honour. As for Lucius, how the Wizengamot believed that he ‘defected to the other side’ during the final battle was beyond her. Hook, line, and sinker, they swallowed his excuses about not wanting to defect earlier due to concerns about his wife and child. Harry had stressed to Hermione that it was true; Voldemort invited himself to Malfoy Manor and took Lucius’ wand in punishment and she knew she should believe this because it came from Harry, but she couldn’t help but be sceptical. She found it hard to believe that it hadn’t been a big honour for the Malfoys to have Voldemort based at their house. Harry insisted Lucius was telling the truth and Hermione sat in disbelief as many were swayed by Lucius’ emotional pleas. 

The Malfoys kept out of the limelight for a while, but Hermione saw the small article in the Daily Prophet that covered Draco Malfoy’s wedding to Astoria Greengrass. There was a picture accompanying the piece and she giggled at the stiffness in their solemn pose, although Astoria’s smile had been reminiscent to the cat that caught the canary. She hadn’t given the married couple another thought until Malfoy barged through Sebastian De Braun’s door this morning. Now all she could think was that there was no way such a po-faced couple were going near her little Iris.

\-------------

Draco arrived home, exhausted. As soon as he discovered who the mother of his child was, he knew that he faced a battle. He walked through Malfoy Manor and straight to the library where he knew his father would be. His father was sitting behind his desk, looking through his papers. He didn’t bother raising his head as his only child walked through the door. “Well?” he asked.

Draco wasn’t too sure how to explain the situation to his father. On the one hand, he was desperate for the Malfoy line to continue. Usually, Malfoys made sure they gained an heir early on in their marriage, preferably conceiving a baby in the first year of marriage. Draco was now nearing thirty, had been married since he was twenty-three, and there was no sign of a baby on the horizon. “It’s more complicated than I thought,” he replied.

“Can we buy her off?” Lucius responded.

Draco snorted. “Not this woman. She has iron-clad morals.”

His father looked up at this with a vaguely concerned expression. “Who is it?”

He wasn’t sure how to break this news to his father. Lucius had never been a fan of the ‘Granger girl’. He berated Draco constantly for allowing her to beat him in exams while they were at school. Lucius didn’t understand how a Mudblood could be so intelligent and gifted when it came to magic. He decided there was no way to sugar coat this. “It’s Granger.”

His father smirked a little at that. “Draco, I hardly think now is the time to make jokes.”

“I’m not joking, father. It’s Granger. She’s carrying the next Malfoy heir,” he said seriously.

Lucius gulped and headed towards the cabinet where he kept some alcohol. He poured two glasses. “Well, this just got interesting,” Lucius remarked.

Draco scoffed. Interesting didn’t even begin to cover it. 

“So what did she say?” Lucius asked.

“She hoped that I would be happy to walk away because the child will be a half-blood.”

Lucius grimaced slightly. A half-blood heir hadn’t been in his reckoning. “Hmm … it’s not ideal. But a half-blood heir is better than no heir. We could always put Astoria in confinement for nine-months and pretend it is a pureblood.”

“Not if it inherits Granger’s hair we can’t. Besides, I doubt she’ll disappear quietly.”

“Well, a half-blood child could come in handy. There are still many who are suspicious about our motives. Times are changing, and a tainted child would cement the Malfoy family into the fabric of the new society.”

“It would be a hard sell amongst the pureblood circles.”

Lucius scoffed. “I’m not afraid of the pureblood families. Most of them owe us money, and I have too much dirt on them all.”

He bowed to his father’s superior knowledge of how to navigate pureblood politics. He’d done it successfully for most of his life, apart from the two years where they were ridiculed and mocked by the Dark Lord. “She’s adamant that I will play no part in this child’s life.”

“Can her husband be bought off? Surely he won’t want to raise another man’s child.”

“This is where it gets a little easier for us,” Draco informed his father. “Granger isn’t married, isn’t in any committed relationship, and was at the clinic to be impregnated by sperm donation.”

Lucius smiled. “Now, that does even the field a little more for us.”

“Yes, I was thinking that we should keep Astoria around until the court case plays out. That way I can present our marriage as a happy one that can provide a stable and loving relationship with two parents,” he said.

“Hmm … it’s a good plan, Draco, but I’d rather our names weren’t splashed all over the Daily Prophet, which will happen if this goes to court. We don’t want the world to think that we have fertility problems,” Lucius commented.

“If?” he remarked. “This is Granger. She’s hardly going to just hand the baby over and disappear back to whichever rock she crawled out from under.”

“No, I know that. She’s a Gryffindor and Potter’s little friend. She’ll be more difficult to shake off than a leech, but I’d like to try a different tactic first. I think you should try and get close to her and charm her into handing the baby over.”

Draco couldn’t help the laughter that escaped his mouth. “Are you insane? She’ll never fall for that.”

“Give it a go, Draco. We need to try and keep this as secret as possible. Whilst you do that, I’ll contact Horatio and start working on a case against her. If anything, this will bide us some time,” Lucius said.

He smirked at his father’s devious nature. He wasn’t deluded enough to think that he would be able to get the baby off Granger without a fight, but it would give them time to build a case. Horatio Devereux could make things happen that other legal representatives couldn’t. The Devereuxs were the Malfoys’ lawyers for as long as anyone could remember. How he managed to keep Lucius out of Azkaban was beyond Draco. Lucius received just a year’s probation. If anyone could get him this child, it would be Horatio.

\-------------------

Hermione was set up for her revelation dinner, as she was calling it. In order to quell any rash behaviour, she cooked Ron’s favourite main course, cottage pie, and Harry’s favourite dessert, treacle tart. Thankfully, Ginny and Luna would also be present, and they were experts at keeping their headstrong husbands in line.

She couldn’t remember a time when she had been so nervous about telling Harry and Ron something. She heard the whooshing sound of her fireplace. She took some deep calming breaths before walking through her flat into her living room.

\--------------

So far everything was going to plan. Harry and Ron were in sparkling form, and the food had gone down well. Hermione was making the coffee in the kitchen to serve with dessert. Her stomach was a mass of knots, and her hands were shaking, which was not a good thing when handling scalding hot water. She knew that she needed to blurt it out, but that was easier said than done. The disappointment and confusion from her friends was something that she wasn’t looking forward to. They wouldn’t understand her desire for a child without a significant other.

“You can do it,” Hermione muttered to herself and then swore as she managed to drop the cafetiere, sprinkling broken glass and coffee granules around the kitchen. 

“What is it you can do? Because apparently you can’t make coffee,” Ginny remarked, coming into the room.

“Ha ha!” Hermione replied before swishing her wand, repairing her cafetiere and sweeping the scattered coffee granules into the bin. 

“So, are you going to tell me why you’re so jumpy tonight?”

“I’m not jumpy,” she objected.

“Of course you aren’t. That’s why you can’t make a simple cup of coffee,” Ginny commented. “Why do I get the feeling that it’s something rather big? You’ve been anxious all evening.”

“No, I haven’t,” she protested.

Ginny just gave her a look that said ‘you can’t fool me.’

Hermione sighed. “Fine, I’ve got some news, and it’s not good.”

“Sit down before you break anything else,” Ginny said, eyeing Hermione’s shaking hands and took over the task Hermione had been attempting to complete, refilling the cafetiere with fresh ground coffee and adding a cup of herbal tea for her. “Is it to do with your holiday fling? Did he give you some sort of disease?”

Hermione looked at Ginny and burst into laughter. “Really, Ginny, I think I know how to look after my health.” Halfway through her laughter, Hermione started to cry. 

Ginny looked alarmed. Hermione didn’t cry – ever. 

“Here, sit down,” she said, guiding Hermione to one of the stools by the breakfast bar. She grabbed some kitchen roll and gave it to her to wipe her tears. 

“Sorry,” Hermione said. “I don’t know what’s come over me. I just feel so emotional at the moment.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re pregnant. The hormones are a bitch like that.” 

Her horrified expression made Ginny stop. “Merlin’s beard! That’s it, isn’t it? You’re pregnant?” Hermione couldn’t do much else but just nod in agreement. “The cad! Have you even got any details to let him know?”

This was exactly what Hermione had hoped for had her plan gone the way it was meant to. She could palm the pregnancy off as due to some unusual reckless behaviour, and the father as a toe-rag who’d left her high and dry, but now she had some difficult explaining to do. “Let’s take the coffee and tart through. I’ll explain it all when we’re sitting down.”

“Hang on; let me add a camomile tea for you. Caffeine isn’t good for the baby and doubly so with the state that you’re in.”

They took the things through to Hermione’s dining room where she made sure she piled Harry and Ron’s plates with large portions of treacle tart before sitting down, and toying with her own slice. 

She took a deep breath. It was now or never. “I’ve got something to tell you,” she started. “I would really appreciate it if you heard me out before jumping in. It’s not something I ever wanted to tell you and you’re going to think I’m crazy, but please just listen then scream at me when I’ve finished.”

Everyone stopped and stared at her, and she felt even more nervous. The bundle of nerves in her stomach wasn’t getting better, and the morning sickness wasn’t helping. She was close to vomiting from the sheer stress of the situation. She decided the only way she was going to get this out was to close her eyes and just say it. “I wasn’t really in Switzerland for a skiing holiday, and I didn’t have a fling with a Frenchman called Thibault. Instead, I went to a fertility clinic for artificial insemination using their sperm donor programme.”

Hermione heard the shocked gasps from her friends, but she knew she wouldn’t continue if she opened her eyes to gauge their reactions. “Anyway, I found out several weeks ago that I’m pregnant.”

“You’re pregnant?!” Ron exclaimed.

She opened her eyes in annoyance and saw the amazed and shocked expressions of her friends. “Please, Ron, this isn’t the end of the story.”

“Hang on, what could possibly be left?”

“The worst part of the whole situation. The first bit went to plan. I was going to say that I was pregnant due to my holiday fling.”

Ginny snorted at that. “I can’t believe you were going to lie to us about this.”

Hermione put her head into her hands. “It’s not as if I wanted to, but I didn’t think you’d understand.”

“You’re right, I don’t understand. If you want a child so much then why don’t you try dating someone? It’s been years since you last had a boyfriend,” Ron said.

“It’s not as simple as that. There’s no one out there who I want to date. I wish there was, but I don’t feel enthusiastic about any man, and I’m not going to settle into a relationship solely for a child. I’d rather be a single parent than have a rocky relationship with someone and have a child in the middle of that.”

“But Hermione, you haven’t even tried dating anyone recently,” Harry said, bemused.

“I swore after Anthony that I wouldn’t date until I was excited by them. Everyone you’ve introduced me to has left me feeling lukewarm.”

“You’re too fussy, that’s your problem,” Ron scolded.

“Shush, Ron. Hermione’s right to wait for someone she’s passionate about,” Luna said. Hermione smiled gratefully at the former Ravenclaw. Luna was the only one who wasn’t giving her judging looks. Then again, Luna was unconventional. She was less likely to be shocked by these things. 

“So who is the sperm donor?” Ginny asked, bringing the conversation back on track.

“They are anonymous. I picked someone with a high IQ and good N.E.W.T. scores. He works as a Healer now. However, earlier this week, I received a letter saying there was an error in my records. I scheduled an appointment with the head of the facility two days ago, and it turns out there was a mix-up with the samples in the laboratory. The father of my child isn’t the sperm donor I picked,” she said in a rush.

Ginny starting giggling and everyone looked at her in shock. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just don’t think I can take any more of this. First, Hermione feels the need to go to a clinic for a baby, and then that clinic screws it all up.”

“You won’t be laughing when you find out who the father is,” Hermione said darkly.

That got everyone’s attention. She stared at the rapt faces in front of her before dropping her eyes to her untouched dessert. “So, as I was saying, there was a mistake in the laboratory and my sperm was mixed up with another couple’s sperm, and the result is that I am now carrying Draco Malfoy’s child.”

Silence greeted this proclamation. Absolutely nothing was said for a good few minutes. Hermione was now wringing her hands waiting for the inevitable explosion. “Well, congratulations, Hermione. I, for one, am very excited about the new addition. It’s going to be so nice now you will have a child too,” Luna said.

Ron looked at his wife in disbelief. “How can you say congratulations? This isn’t a happy event; it’s a bloody farce.”

“Ron!” Luna exclaimed.

“Don’t Ron me! It is. Hermione’s gone nuts and is now pregnant with the spawn of a Death Eater.”

Hermione’s over-wrought nerves gave way, and she burst into tears, fleeing upstairs to her bedroom. The last few days had caught up with her, and she wanted nothing more than to bury her head under her pillow and not come out again. She heard the sound of feet coming upstairs and she cringed further into her bedding.

“Hermione,” Harry called out softly. She felt the bed dip as he sat down beside her and a hand stroked her back. “You know what Ron’s like. He didn’t mean it to come out as harshly as it did.”

“But he’s right. I completely messed this up. How could this happen to me, and with Draco Malfoy of all people?”

“Hey, it’s not your fault. It’s the clinic that messed up. It’s not as if you thought this outcome would be possible.”

“It’s ridiculous. And when this goes to court and gets splashed all over the media, everyone is going to laugh at me. I’m the know-it-all bookworm who can’t keep a man and has to resort to sperm donation to get a baby,” she bawled.

“If anyone comments on this, then they’ll find themselves on the sharp end of Ginny’s Bat Bogey Hex. But why would this go to court?”

She sat up and wiped her eyes. “Malfoy barged into my meeting at the clinic. Instead of being normal and happy to sweep his potential half-blood child under the rug, he’s demanding that he has rights to the child.”

He looked at her nonplussed. “You mean he actually wants to claim this child?”

She nodded, a couple of tears slipping down her cheeks. “I thought he’d try and convince me to have an abortion, but he’s talking about taking me to court so he can see the child.”

“I’m sure it will come to nothing. I mean, Lucius will never stand for Malfoy acknowledging a half-blood baby. Although you probably need to be careful when outside, I wouldn’t put it past the Malfoys to try and hex you so you accidentally lose the baby.”

Hermione looked horrified and clutched her stomach protectively. He realised what he said. “Sorry, I should have phrased that a lot better. Don’t worry; I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“I can’t lose this baby now, Harry. I couldn’t stand having to go through something like this again. The emotional upheaval would kill me.”

Harry just kissed her on the head. “I’ve got your back, okay? If Malfoy wants to make this a fight, then he’ll soon realise that he isn’t just taking on you, but Ron and I too. 

She smiled weakly at him. “Thanks so much. Do you think the others will mind if I don’t go back downstairs? I just want to sleep. The first trimester is really tiring and I’ve had a rough couple of days.”

“You go to sleep, Hermione. We’ll clean up downstairs and I want you to put that brain of yours to bed too. Don’t lie awake analysing this endlessly.”

\-----------------

Harry slowly walked back downstairs to his waiting friends. He was struggling to get his head around this whole situation. Life was never simple for Hermione. He walked back into the dining room. “How’s she doing?” Ginny asked.

“She’s okay. Tired and emotional, but she’ll be all right. I reassured her that we’re right behind her.”

“I can’t believe she’s carrying Malfoy’s baby,” Ron said for about the fiftieth time.

“She told me that he’s threatening her with court if she doesn’t allow him access to the baby.”

Ginny gasped. “But he won’t want to acknowledge the baby. Hermione’s a Muggle-born. The Malfoys pride themselves on their bloodlines.”

“It appears that isn’t the case. I wouldn’t put it past him to try to stress her into a miscarriage.”

“Or maybe he wants a child as much as Hermione does,” Luna suggested fairly.

Ron scowled. “This is Malfoy. What does he want with Hermione’s baby? He’s married, isn’t he?”

Ginny nodded. “To Daphne Greengrass’ sister.”

“Well, they are obviously struggling to conceive if they were seeking help from a fertility clinic,” Luna pointed out.

Ron and Harry both burst into laughter. Ginny rolled her eyes, typical men, judging their masculinity on being able to get women pregnant. “I blame us for this whole situation.”

“What did we do?” Ron asked confused.

“We’ve let Hermione bury herself in work. She hasn’t dated anyone seriously for far too long. Instead, we’ve allowed her to become some kind of glorified aunt,” Ginny growled.

“I object to that. You and mum have been bugging Hermione to death about the whole dating thing. If anything you’ve pushed her so hard she’s run in the opposite direction,” Ron complained.

At least I’ve been trying - you and Harry are awful. You’ve happily sat on the sidelines and watched her be lonely because no man is good enough for her in your eyes,” Ginny snapped.

“Hey, that’s not fair. I would love to see Hermione happy, but I’m not going to badger her into relationships. Besides, it’s obviously not worked when you have done it.”

“At least I’m trying, which is more than I can say for you!” Ginny yelled.

Harry patted his outraged wife’s knee. “Sweetheart, getting your blood pressure up this high isn’t good for the baby. Anyway, all this arguing about what we could have done to prevent this situation isn’t going to change the fact that Hermione is in this predicament. ”

Ginny muttered something about patronising men but Harry ignored her. “We’ve got to make sure we keep an eye on what Malfoy is planning. It won’t be good. He’ll try to bully Hermione into giving him this baby.”

“The ferret will find that he has to get through us in order to touch our Hermione,” Ron said martially.


	4. Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my new beta, pagan, who has kindly agreed to take this story over. This chapter, we see more of the Malfoys

Ginny observed her usually rational friend who was currently pacing around her living room. Hermione had decided that she needed to tell her parents about her predicament, and that today would be that day. It was obvious to Ginny that Hermione really didn’t want to do this and her bushy-haired friend really didn’t need the added stress. 

“Hermione, you don’t have to do this right now. It’s still really early on in your pregnancy,” she said, trying to reason with her.

“But if I don’t get it out of the way, then it will be hanging over me like the sword of Damocles.”

“You’re being a bit melodramatic, aren’t you?” Luna suggested softy.

“You don’t know my parents. They won’t understand.”

Ginny grasped Hermione’s hands. “You’ve got to calm down. All this stress is not good for you.”

Hermione sat down on the sofa and started the deep breathing exercises Ginny was currently teaching her. “I’m sorry I’m freaking out so much. I’m just really scared by this whole situation.”

“Of course you are! This isn’t normal at all.”

Hermione smiled gratefully at Ginny, who was trying her hardest to be a calming influence on her. She was also attempting to quell any fears Hermione had over pregnancy and childbirth. It wasn’t easy, as the uptight woman was an emotional mess at the moment. Ginny had never seen Hermione so extreme in her feelings, but then again, pregnancy had the nasty habit of doing that. 

The one good thing about quitting professional Quidditch was that Ginny was able to spend a lot more time with her friend. She was no longer called away for long training camps and games all over the country and now worked for the Daily Prophet as their Quidditch correspondent. Apart from attending games and press conferences, she could pretty much work from home. 

Luna, too, had come through for her friend. As a researcher for Newt Scamander, she had large chunks of time where she worked from home, hitting the books, trying to track down historical mentions of some of the weird and wonderful fauna and flora she studied. She was currently in the middle of one of these projects and popped over to Hermione’s house every day, looking to distract her from her current woes by asking for her advice about this and that. Luna didn’t usually do this, as Hermione wasn’t the most open-minded person, but she recognised that her pregnant and stressed friend could do with the distraction.

Looking a lot more tranquil now, Hermione jumped up and grabbed her bag. She marched over to the fireplace. “Well, there’s never going to a good moment to do this,” she said to her friends. “So, I might as well get this over and done with now. I only wish I hadn’t told my parents quite so much about Malfoy whilst I was at Hogwarts. Wish me luck!”

Ginny and Luna both watched as their bushy-haired friend disappeared through the Floo Network.

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Luna asked. “Should one of us have gone with her?”

“Nah, she’s freaking out because her mum will think she’s been hasty, but they’ll be fine. They love her and they recognise the sacrifice she made for them during the war. They aren’t the kind to disown their child over something like this.”

Luna bowed to Ginny’s superior knowledge of the Granger family as she had only met them occasionally. 

Ginny flopped onto the sofa. “I’m more worried about Harry. He’s taking this news really hard.”

Luna pursed her lips. “Ron’s ranting about it but he won’t take any action.”

“I wish I could say the same for Harry. He’s brought the Malfoy files home and is going through them with a fine toothcomb. He assures me that he’s not looking to arrest them on any trumped up charges, but he’s researching their _modus operandi_. He doesn’t want Hermione to know, but he’s really worried they might try and do something to her.”

Luna shook her head. “At least they are not stressing Hermione out with their theories and rants. As for Malfoy, I think he actually wants a child, hence why he isn’t too worried about it being a half-blood.”

Ginny’s expression darkened. Luna was sticking to this theory of hers that Malfoy actually wanted the child for legitimate reasons but she wasn’t so sure. Her sister-in-law could be naïve and liked to believe the best in people. “Maybe that’s the case for Malfoy, but Lucius is devious and nasty enough to do some harm to Hermione.”

Luna shrugged. “Perhaps. However, I think you are all judging them a little too harshly. They have been law-abiding citizens since Voldemort’s fall. Why should that change now?”

“Lucius pulled off the innocent act previously. I don’t trust that man as far as I can throw him.”

Luna wisely remained silent. The redhead had every reason to dislike and mistrust Lucius Malfoy. However, Luna was taking what Draco Malfoy said at face value. She felt things weren’t as straightforward as her Gryffindor friends thought. The last few times she had seen Malfoy, he hadn’t looked happy. It was more than possible that he had personal problems, which was why he was at the fertility clinic in the first place. She knew not to suggest this, though. Her husband and his friends would always be suspicious about Malfoy’s intentions. It was a hang-up after the war.

Looking at how worried Ginny was, Luna patted her knee. “I doubt Harry will do anything rash.”

Ginny rubbed her eyes. “I really hope not. I don’t see how that would help Hermione.”

\---------------

However, Ginny’s fears were proven correct. Two days later, Harry bumped into Malfoy at the Ministry. The blond was conversing with several high-ranking members of the Wizengamot and looking as smug as usual. Harry narrowed his eyes and stalked him down the corridor. He waited until Malfoy parted from the group.

“Hey, Malfoy,” he called.

The former Slytherin stopped and his shoulders appeared to tense as he recognised the voice. 

“Potter,” he said, turning. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I’d like to have a word with you.”

Malfoy sighed. “I take it you want this to happen in your office?”

“It would be best, yes.”

“Lead on, then.”

They walked in silence until they reached Harry’s office. He shut the door, moved around his desk to take his seat and offered the one opposite to Malfoy. His former school nemesis languidly sat down.

“I want to talk to you about Hermione.”

“How did I guess?” Malfoy replied sarcastically.

“Why are you doing this to her?”

“Doing what?”

“Threatening her with legal action and stressing her out until she’s struggling to sleep?”

“Look, I want this to be as amicable as possible, but I don’t understand why you Gryffindors cannot fathom why I want to be a part of this child’s life.”

Harry scoffed. “Malfoy, at no stage of our acquaintance have you ever given any hint that having a child with a Muggle-born would be welcome.”

“What I thought in that respect is academic now. The baby exists. There is nothing I can do to change that.”

“Why can’t you just pretend it doesn’t exist?”

“Put yourself in my shoes for a small moment, Potter. I know that’s difficult for someone as narrow-minded as you. Would you do the same? Just walk away from a child because of such an accident?”

Harry didn’t want to acknowledge that Malfoy had a point. If it was someone else, say Terry Boot or Justin Finch-Fletchley, he would be more than willing to consider this point. But it _was_ Malfoy. He didn’t think the dig about being narrow-minded was worth replying to, coming from the blond. “I want you to leave Hermione alone.”

“I haven’t been near her since Switzerland.”

He was stumped at that. “I don’t trust you or your father where this child is concerned.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me, we’re meant to arrange for some awful accident to befall Granger that ends up with the baby dead.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“I think you are rather spectacularly missing the point.”

“What point?”

“A point that you of all people should know.”

Harry was confused. This conversation was beginning to go around in circles. “Just spit it out.”

“This child that Granger is carrying is a Malfoy, therefore, it doesn’t matter if it is a half-blood or not.”

“Why is that important?”

“How you became an Auror, I’ll never know. I thought they were meant to be smart. You have first hand experience of what a Malfoy will do for another Malfoy.”

Harry flushed as he realised what Malfoy was referring to. Narcissa Malfoy’s love for her son overcame any desire she had to see Voldemort and pureblood supremacy to triumph. Malfoy slowly clapped. “Well done, Potter. I see you’ve managed to put two and two together.”

“Be warned that I’ll be watching you all.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. However, you might like to remember that you’ve been wrong at least once before regarding Slytherins and their motives.” 

It didn’t take Harry more than a moment to figure out what Malfoy was referring to. He still felt guilty over how he had completely misjudged Snape. 

He watched as the blond stood. 

“I would say it’s been nice talking to you, but we both know that would be a lie,” Malfoy said, as he walked to the door.

\---------------------

Draco ran his hand through his hair as he left Potter’s office. Damn the Chosen One and his inability not to meddle in everyone’s business. He refused to explain to Potter exactly why he wanted a role in this child’s life. Anyway, everything he had said to him was correct. Malfoys looked out for each other before anything else.

He walked through the atrium to the bank of fireplaces. He threw some Floo powder in an empty grate and returned home to Malfoy Manor. The first thing he heard as he arrived was the whiny tones of his wife. He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose as Astoria appeared in travel room. 

“Draco, where have you been? We were meant to attend lunch with Theo and Andrea.”

“I told you last week that I had some meetings at the Ministry today and wouldn’t be able to come.”

“I thought we had agreed that would you postpone them. Andrea was going to show me around her new garden and I wanted to make sure it wasn’t landscaped better than the Manor.”

He could feel his irritation rising. “No, Astoria, _you_ decided that. I told you that this meeting was far more important than a couple of plants.”

She pouted. “I was very embarrassed having to turn up without you there.”

“Maybe next time you’ll actually listen to me when I tell you something.”

“It would be nice if you took into consideration your wife’s feelings,” she sniped at him before flouncing out of the room.

Draco closed his eyes. “Salazar save me from any more witches,” he muttered.

“Now, Draco, we’re not all like Astoria,” his mother said, amused, as she walked into the room.

“It’s hard to remember that at times,” Draco grouched. 

“Come and have some tea with me,” Narcissa suggested.

Draco knew that was code for ‘we need to talk’, so he followed his mother through to her private sitting room. She had all the elegance and poise that Astoria wanted to have but was never going to be able to re-create. For some reason, this made him happy. In his view, Astoria wasn’t good enough to lick his mother’s shoes. 

He settled down in one his mother’s overstuffed armchairs. Whilst the public rooms downstairs were stylised and formal, which, in turn, made them uncomfortable, the private rooms in the Manor were a lot more homely. A house-elf popped into the room carrying a tea tray, placing it carefully on the table in between mother and son. Narcissa proceeded to pour them both a cup and offered him one of the dainty cakes she liked. 

“Now, are you going to tell me what’s going on?” she asked, dropping her ‘Lady of the Manor’ façade and jumping straight to the point.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Mother.”

“You can drop that act right now, Draco. It might work on your peers, but you’ll never be as good as your father at feigning ignorance and I can see straight through it.”

“I take it Father hasn’t spoken to you?”

“You know Lucius, he never tells me these things unless he has to. He says he wants to shelter me. Silly man,” Narcissa said fondly.

Draco groaned internally. He wished his father would stop treating his mother as if she was made of porcelain. All it resulted in was his mother pumping him for information instead, and she was altogether too skilled at doing that. “What do you want to know?”

“When are you getting rid of that irritating girl downstairs? I wanted you to do it years ago when you first breached the topic with us, but you let your father convince you to try and conceive an heir first.”

“I wish I had listened to you.”

“So do I, Draco. You’ve been unhappy with her almost from the beginning. You could have been married to someone you actually like if you had gone through with divorcing her back then.”

“To be honest, Mum, I don’t think I’ll ever get married again.”

Narcissa watched her son sadly. He only called her ‘Mum’ when he was really depressed. This whole marriage with Astoria was aging him prematurely. He looked stressed all the time. It wasn’t something the average person could see, but to her eyes, she could see the pressure he was under. 

“Don’t say that, darling. You’ll find someone who will make you happy.”

“I’m beginning to think I should have married Pansy. At least she doesn’t irritate me.”

She snorted. “No, the pair of you would have killed each other instead. Besides, she and Adrian are so very happy.”

He sighed. His mother was right. No matter how much he loved and admired Pansy, they didn’t work as a couple. She had been his first girlfriend, and the only one of his romantic attachments he remained friends with. She was now happily married to Adrian Pucey and they had two delightful little children whom Draco spoiled rotten. 

“You’re right as always, Mother.”

“But that’s not what has got you so stressed.”

He debated for a brief moment whether he should say anything to his mother. The less people who were dragged into this mess the better — but then again, it was his mother. She hated having secrets kept from her, and if she couldn’t weasel it out of him, then, when she did find out, she was going to be impossible. 

“You remember that Astoria and I went for fertility treatment last month in Switzerland?”

“Yes,” Narcissa replied. “Don’t tell me she’s pregnant?” The distaste in her voice as she said this would have amused him on any other day, but not in these circumstances. 

“You’ll be relieved to know that she isn’t.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Then what has you so tense?”

“There was a mix-up at the laboratory. My sperm sample didn’t end up going to Astoria but to someone else, and she _is_ pregnant.” 

He paused to allow his mother sometime to digest that news. It wasn’t an easy thing to do. 

Admirably, Narcissa didn’t take that long to start questioning him again. “Who is the woman now carrying your baby?”

Draco grimaced. This wasn’t getting any easier the more he told it. His mother wasn’t too fond of Hermione Granger either. “Granger,” he said simply.

“Granger? As in Potter’s friend? The one with the frightful hair?”

“The one and only.”

Narcissa slumped back in her chair. “Oh!” she remarked.

“That’s a little bit of an understatement.”

“Well, what do you want me to say? I think I’m being fairly restrained in the circumstances. _Granger!_ That awful girl who stomps around Diagon Alley looking a mess and now you tell me that’s she’s the mother of my only grandchild.”

He grimaced. This was the reaction he’d expected from his mother. He watched as she took some uncharacteristic deep breaths.

“Have you spoken to her about it?” she asked, once more in control.

“I gate crashed her appointment with De Braun.”

“How is she taking it?”

“Not very well. For a start, she thought I would try and pressure her into an abortion. She doesn’t want me to have any rights to the child.”

“She can’t do that, can she?”

He shrugged. “We’ve got Horatio working on the case. It’s complicated. She was going there for the sperm donation programme, so her contract states that the biological father would have no right to try and see any ensuing baby.”

“Will she be able to stop you seeing the baby?”

“I don’t know. Father is hoping we can keep this out of court, but I don’t see how. He’s got some idea of my being able to charm her into giving up the baby.”

Narcissa snorted. “Your father has always underestimated Potter and his blasted friends. She doesn’t seem the type to just hand her child over to be raised by someone else.”

“She’s not.”

“Are you going to go ahead with your father’s foolhardy plan?”

“It’s worth a go. It’s not going to benefit any of us to see this go before a judge. Besides, it’ll buy us some time,” he replied.

One of the first changes made to the way the Ministry was run after the fall of Voldemort was the implementation of a proper justice system, one based on Muggle courts. There had been too many instances where individuals abused their power to the detriment of the whole community: from Barty Crouch Senior’s authoritarian courts to the kangaroo court presided over by Cornelius Fudge that tried to expel Harry Potter from Hogwarts for underage magic. 

This got Draco thinking about his conversation with Potter once more. “It’s probably best if we are on our guard for a while,” he suggested. 

Narcissa raised a delicate eyebrow in query. 

“Potter grabbed me at the Ministry earlier and warned me off Granger.”

“Does he think we’ll hurt her?” she asked indignantly.

“I believe that’s exactly what he thinks.” Draco sneered in contempt.

Narcissa tutted irately before her mind moved on to other concerns. “What about Astoria?”

He groaned. “I try not to think of her. It’s best if she doesn’t have an inkling of what is going on. She’ll only try to use it to manipulate us and I think we can do without that.”

His mother shuddered. “What you were thinking with that girl, I’ll never know.”

“I wasn’t,” he replied dryly.

\------------------

Hermione was immersed in going over new legislation regarding the misuse of Muggle artefacts. The Ministry was clamping down on such behaviour. Some witches and wizards might view it as a harmful prank on unsuspecting Muggles but there were many who still held to old ideals and enjoyed a spot of Muggle-baiting. She had been tasked with heading a team that was to bring in stronger sanctions against such behaviour.

There was a brief knock on her door and Harry poked his head around. “Have you got a spare five minutes?” he asked.

“For my favourite Auror? Of course I have.”

He walked into her office and closed the door and sat down on the chair opposite, proceeding to fidget. 

She viewed this behaviour with amusement. “Harry, whatever is bothering you, just spit it out.”

He looked up and smiled at her. “It’s that obvious there is something wrong, huh?”

“When you insist on squirming around like that, then yes.”

“I bumped into Malfoy,” he blurted out.

Her heart stopped for a moment before beginning to beat erratically. Judging by Harry’s unease, it seemed the meeting hadn’t gone well. What if Malfoy had told him that he was preparing a case to put before the courts? 

Hermione was using as much of her spare time as possible to read more into the state of family law in the wizarding world. But what she had read so far wasn’t encouraging. Being more conservative than its Muggle counterpart, the wizard father had many more automatic rights, regardless of circumstance. The one thing in her favour was the fact that this would be a unique case. Nothing like this had happened before in the UK’s magical community and she was clinging to the hope that this would work out in her favour. 

“What happened?” she asked.

“Don’t get angry at me, okay? But I sort of confronted him about the situation.”

“Harry,” she said and groaned. 

“I know, Hermione, but I couldn’t help it. You know how I get,” he said in defence. 

She nodded. She couldn’t, in all reality, get mad at him. Rushing off and confronting things threatening either him or his friends was a very Harry thing to do, and he’d been doing it since she’d met him, so she couldn’t really complain about it now. 

“How it did it go?”

He wrinkled his nose. “In all honesty, I don’t know. He wasn’t how I expected him to be.”

She was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Well, he was his usual obnoxious self, sneering and generally being irritating, but I expected him to react differently to the whole situation.”

Her palms started to sweat. Harry was scaring her. “Like how?”

“He seems as if he really wants this child,” he said.

Her heart sank. She really didn’t want to hear that. She wanted to hear that he was indifferent to the baby and that he had only insisted in being a part of its life because he wanted to punish the medical centre for messing up and her for being… well, _her_. 

“He started going on about how the fact that it was a Malfoy trumped the baby’s half-blood,” Harry continued.

She buried her head in her hands. “Really, Harry, I don’t want to hear this. I want to pretend that he’s just messing with me because that’s what he does.”

Her friend made a sympathetic noise. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s the reason at all. He seems pretty sad about the whole thing.”

“Don’t start feeling sorry for him!” she exclaimed, lifting her head up to glare at him.

“I’m not!” he objected. “But he did ask me to put myself in his shoes. If I was in his position and got, say Parkinson, pregnant, it wouldn’t mean I would walk away.”

“He didn’t get me pregnant in any traditional sense of the word! There was a mix-up with sperm in a laboratory. Don’t you dare start ‘daddy bonding’ with him over this, or I’ll hex you so Ginny doesn’t even recognise you.”

“Okay, okay! Relax a little.”

“I can’t. This situation is all I think about. I’m meant to be concentrating on readying this draft legislation to present before the Wizengamot, and all I can think about is what Malfoy’s next move is going to be. And now you’re telling me that you sympathise with him.”

“I meant what I said last week, Hermione. I’ve got your back in this, and I always will.”

Hermione smiled at her green-eyed best friend. “Thanks, Harry. I really needed to know that my friends are standing with me in this. I’m scared and I feel alone.”

“Hey,” he said, coming around to kneel down next to her. “You’ll never be alone.” 

He looped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her fiercely. 

“What if he takes my baby away?” She sniffled.


	5. Appointments and Meetings

That morning was Hermione’s first appointment with the midwife and the anticipation was killing her. She was practically bouncing around in her seat as she waited to be called through. The pregnancy was feeling so much more realistic now. So far, it had consisted of crippling nausea and the crushing reality that she was carrying a baby that shared DNA with Draco Malfoy. Oh, and crying – lots and lots of bouts of crying.

“Will you sit still?” Ginny admonished her.

“I can’t. I’m so excited.”

“I can tell! It really isn’t that thrilling, you know.”

“Oh, hush! It isn’t for you because this is your third time. I remember how excited you got with every little appointment with James,” Hermione pointed out.

Ginny smiled fondly. “I remember.”

Hermione was booked in at the clinic at St. Mungo’s. It was housed in a little annexe around the back, away from the hustle and bustle of the main hospital. 

“I hope the midwife is nice,” Hermione whispered.

“I’m sure she will be.”

Hermione checked the clock for what felt like the twentieth time and huffed as it hadn’t moved the necessary ten minutes until her appointment time. She picked up a magazine and started flicking through it rapidly. 

Ginny’s hand descended and stopped the frantic page turning. “Calm down.”

“I can’t. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve never been this nervous before.” She turned to face Ginny, alarmed. “What if they tell me something’s wrong with the baby? I mean, seriously, how can the mixing of my DNA with Malfoy’s be normal?”

“Hermione, they aren’t going to do any tests today. It’s too early to hear the baby’s heartbeat and you don’t have a scan until twelve weeks in. Besides, I’m sure the baby is perfectly healthy.”

She started to wring her hands. “I know that. I’m just so nervous.”

Ginny smiled at her. “I can tell!”

“Ms. Granger? The midwife will see you now,” the receptionist called across the waiting room. 

Hermione took several deep breaths before she stood up. “Wish me luck,” she said to Ginny.

“You won’t need it,” the redhead replied.

“It’s Room 4,” the receptionist informed Hermione as she walked past. 

She nodded her thanks and walked through the doors. The corridor seemed to go on forever. She really wasn’t one to be so nervous, but nothing about this pregnancy was going right so far.

She knocked on the door of Room 4 and a deep voiced called, “Come in.”

Hermione hesitated for a brief minute, taking a couple of deep breaths and rubbing her clammy hands down her trousers, before opening the door. She stood stock-still for a moment as sitting across the room was Millicent Bulstrode, looking as masculine as she had at Hogwarts.

“Ms. Granger, please come in and take a seat,” Bulstrode said, as if she hadn’t gone to school with — and bullied — Hermione.

She moved to the indicated seat on shaking legs. Why did she live in the St. Mungo’s catchment area? Why hadn’t she taken that little cottage down the road from Harry and Ginny’s in Godric’s Hollow? Then she would be under a completely different clinic.

Bulstrode put a meaty hand out to Hermione. “I’m Millicent Bulstrode and I’ll be your community midwife. The majority of your appointments will be with me.”

 _Great_ , Hermione thought as she shook Bulstrode’s hand. “I didn’t know you’d gone into medicine,” she blurted out. Well, she wasn’t going to sit there and pretend she didn’t know the woman.

“I’m not surprised; we hardly share the same friends.”

 _No, but one of your friends is the father of my child_ , she thought. But there was no way she was going to share that information, so she just smiled weakly.

“Okay, now we have the introductions out of the way, I’ll explain what will happen at this appointment, and outline your care and the options available to you. But first, I’ll need to take some details from you,” Bulstrode said, pulling an orange file out of her drawer and opening it. 

It took a good twenty minutes for the basic information to be entered, including height, weight, date of her last menstrual cycle, and any hereditary diseases on her side of the family. 

Bulstrode flicked through the file and frowned. “I’m sorry; it appears your GP has left all details of the father off your referral form. Is it possible you could give them to me? At the moment, we only have Elizabeth Granger listed as your next of kin.”

She flushed. She hated this part: the annoying bit where she had to explain that the father wasn’t going to be an active presence in her child’s life. “I don’t have a partner.”

Bulstrode looked up from the file where she had her quill ready to jot down the details. Hermione squirmed a little in her seat. Bulstrode looked as if she was going to start interrogating her about the whole situation. Luckily, the nurse’s professionalism kicked in. 

“Oh, okay,” she said lamely. “We usually like to take into account the health of both parents in order to be prepared for all possibilities. Are you aware of any paternal health risks?”

 _There’s a risk the baby could turn out to be a pointy-faced brat_ , Hermione thought. “Not that I am aware of,” she replied.

“Do any of the father’s close relatives have any health issues we should know about?” Bulstrode continued.

“No,” she responded. _Not unless you count a tendency towards becoming Death Eaters_.

Bulstrode looked up from the file and gave her a rather forced smile. “That’s the boring questions out of the way. Now, we get to discuss your plan and the classes available for you to take.”

Hermione perked up a little at that. So far, this whole appointment had been depressing. She had thought her pregnancy would be lovely and leave her with a radiant glow. In reality, it was turning out to be nothing more than stressful. She leaned forward. “I’ve read up on the various birthing options and was looking at a water birth. Does St. Mungo’s have such a facility?”

“Yes, we offer all the same options as Muggle hospitals do and have a brand new birthing centre that opened last summer. I can book you in for a visit, if you’d like?”

“That would be great. Thank you.”

The rest of the appointment revolved around similar themes. Hermione left laden down with leaflets informing her about various things, including breathing classes, the importance of healthy diets in pregnancy, and what the various stages of pregnancy consisted of. 

“So, how did it go?” Ginny asked as soon as she reappeared.

Hermione grimaced. “It was okay.”

The redhead looked confused. “What’s wrong? You were bouncing with excitement before you went in there?”

She looked briefly at the receptionist who was watching the two friends with interest. “Let’s get a cup of tea. I’ll explain then.”

Hermione guided them to a little café off the busy high street. She sighed in relief as she settled down into her seat and took a sip of the hot chocolate she had ordered. 

“Well?” Ginny questioned.

“I can’t believe my luck. Guess who’s my midwife? Actually, don’t bother. You’ll never guess. I’ve got to deal with Millicent Bulstrode! _Bulstrode_!” Hermione shrieked.

Ginny sat with her mouth gaping open for a moment, before bursting into gales of laughter.

“It’s not funny!”

“Sorry,” Ginny said with a gasp. “It’s just that you seem destined to be burdened with Slytherins throughout this pregnancy.”

She put her head in her hands. “I’m doomed,” she complained pessimistically.

Ginny patted her head. “No, you’re not. You’re just a little unlucky.”

“ _Unlucky_! That’s an understatement! First, the fertility clinic screws my sperm donation up, and now I have Bulstrode as my midwife. Could this get any worse?”

“Er… I don’t want to make your day any worse, but, yes, I think it’s about go further downhill as Malfoy’s just walked through the door.”

Hermione lifted her head out of her hands and stared straight into the grey eyes of her one-time nemesis, and now father of her unborn child.

\-----------------

Draco was attempting to read the latest report from the Chair of the Hogwarts Board of Governors and failing miserably. The mess with Granger was occupying his mind. He flung the report down and pinched the bridge of his nose, swinging his chair around to face the window. The sight that met his gaze caused him to frown. It looked as if Astoria was haranguing his mother once more. He was saved the pain of having to intervene by the sound coming from his fireplace. 

“Draco?” called Millicent.

He turned his chair back to face the fire. “Here I am,” he replied.

“I wanted to let you know that Granger just came in for her first appointment.”

“And?”

“I planted the Galleon just as you asked.”

He smiled at that. “Thanks, Millie.”

“Are you going to tell me how you even know Granger is pregnant?”

“Later,” he said as walked across the room to grab his coat and strode through the door.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” she called out after him.

Draco was rather proud of the tracking Galleon he’d invented a couple of years ago. It had come in very handy when looking to close business deals. He was able to ‘accidentally’ bump into business acquaintances and get ahead of his competition. He was now using it unscrupulously on Granger. This amused him as she had initially given him the idea with her Dumbledore Army Galleons. He had been pleased when he’d worked out that she would fall under Millie’s care. It would mean he would know when her appointments were.

\--------

He was able to catch up with Granger as she left the hospital. He followed discretely behind the two witches. He noted that the bushy-haired woman looked upset and pretty morose. He waited as they chose a café and got settled. He didn’t want to rush in and give them a greater chance of escape. He gave it a good ten minutes before making his move. By the time he walked in, Granger had her head in her hands and the She-Weasel was finding something amusing. That changed when Weasley caught his eye and, within seconds, Granger was lifting her head and glaring at him. Draco wasn’t going to be intimidated by the stern school-marmish look she had perfected by the time she was thirteen.

“Granger,” he greeted as he sauntered over to the Gryffindors.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed back.

“It’s a café; what do you think I’m doing?”

“Well, go somewhere else and buy a drink.”

“Is that anyway to speak to the father of your child?”

Granger looked around, paranoid, before spinning back to him. “Ssh… someone might hear.”

He rolled his eyes, pulled out a chair, and sat down. “We’re in the middle of Muggle London and I’m hardly shouting. Who’s going to be interested enough to be listening in?”

“Why are you sitting down?”

“I thought it would be a good idea for us to talk.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk to you,” she replied petulantly.

He ignored her protests and waved a waiter over. “Could I get a white Americano and an almond croissant?”

“You have to go to the counter to order,” the waiter informed him.

Draco just stared the younger man down until the waiter started to shuffle a little, discomfited by the steady stare. Finally, he nodded and went to get the order.

“You can’t do that,” Granger said with a huff. “People aren’t here just to serve you.”

“I’ll leave him a tip. How many people come in these places and bother leaving a tip?”

“That’s not the point—” she started to say.

“Are we really going to argue about this? Salazar’s rod, woman, you’re too argumentative.”

He watched with amusement as Granger’s nostrils flared. She looked as if she was about to launch into a tirade when the Weaselette interrupted. “Hermione, stop letting him wind you up. Just listen to what he says and he’ll be gone all the sooner.”

Draco smirked in the redhead’s direction. “It’s not often I agree with a Weasley, but she’s right.”

Granger folded her arms and looked at him sternly. “Well, go on, I’m listening.”

Now the hostile brunette was listening to him, he wasn’t sure how to continue. “How are you?”

She raised an eyebrow at that. “You came over here and kicked up a big fuss just to ask me that?”

“Granger, just answer the question!” he snapped back, aware of how inadequate the question was and not appreciating the fact that not only Granger, but also Weasley, were staring at him.

“I’m fine — well, I would be if you disappeared from my life.”

He ignored that. “And the baby?”

“She’s good, as far as I can tell.”

Draco was frustrated at that answer and growled slightly. The Weaselette sniggered in amusement. “What?” he snarled at her.

The entertained redhead smirked at him but relented and gave him some useful information. “The pregnancy is going well so far. Hermione has hideous morning sickness but that’s a good sign.”

He nodded curtly. He wasn’t going to tell Potter’s wife that he was grateful for her interference. There was a brief pause as the waiter returned with Draco’s order. He plonked them down in front of the blond harder than necessary, but the blond wasn’t paying any attention as he noticed the pile of leaflets sitting on the table and started to rifle through them. 

“You could at least have said thank you,” Granger scolded him.

He grunted noncommittally at her. He wasn’t interested in being polite to some spotty kid working in a coffee house chain. Instead, he waived a leaflet at her. “What are these?”

Granger sighed dramatically. “Not that it’s any of your business, but if it makes you leave quicker, I had my first appointment with the midwife and this is the information she gave me.”

He started picking through them, ignoring the ones that graphically outlined birth. He zeroed in on one about diet, skimming through its contents quickly. He then glared at the cup Granger was clutching in her hands. “What are you drinking? It says here you shouldn’t have coffee.”

“Really? You’re going to come in here, read one stupid leaflet, and start lecturing me about what I should or shouldn’t be drinking? Besides,” she continued, getting into the lecture, “a coffee once or twice a day isn’t going to hurt the baby. But, for your information, I’m not drinking any coffee. It makes me feel sick.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about your appointment? I have a right to know,” he replied, feeling stupid and needing to hide it by attacking back.

“I’ve already told you that I don’t want you involved with this pregnancy.”

“Granger, half that baby is mine. Without me, you wouldn’t have a baby.”

“Yes, I would. I’d have a baby with the donor I chose!” she remarked stubbornly.

“Astoria isn’t pregnant,” he pointed out smugly.

“That says more about pure-blood fertility problems than it does my chosen donor.”

“What?”

“Well, you obviously have a problem, hence, why you had to go to a fertility clinic to get your wife pregnant.”

“There is nothing wrong with my sperm,” he uttered, stung at the two amused women sitting opposite him and judging.

“That’s such a typical male move: blame the woman for all the problems.”

“You’re making no sense, Granger. If there was something wrong with my sperm, then why are you pregnant?”

“You probably needed some fresh DNA in order to reproduce. You know what they say about continual inbreeding: it causes genetic problems.”

Draco ran a hand through his hair, agitated by the direction the conversation was taking. He hadn’t given much thought to what Granger thought about why he and Astoria were using the services of a fertility clinic, but he didn’t like what she was inferring. Matters were made worse by the fact that Weasley was watching all this avidly. 

“I refuse to discuss this with you,” he snapped.

The brunette shook her head and turned with a smile to the She-Weasel. “Oh look, we appear to have wounded Malfoy’s delicate male ego.”

He shoved his chair back, irritated. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” he growled at her before storming out.

\---------------

Hermione watched at the tall Slytherin left the café in a sulk. “That appeared to do the trick,” she said, satisfied.

Ginny was looking thoughtfully at the door. “What?” Hermione asked.

“Well, it’s strange. Malfoy appeared shocked and confused by that idea.”

“What are you getting at?”

“It’s just if he and Astoria had been trying for a baby and needed fertility treatment, he wouldn’t have been stumped by your suggestion. He probably would already have some kind of excuse made up.”

“Come on, Gin, its Malfoy. He probably just didn’t like the fact that I was questioning his ability to father a child. You know what men are like, and that particular one has too much pride already.”

Ginny pursed her lips. “I guess, but something was off. I don’t think that was the reason at all.”

“Then why else would he be seeking fertility treatment with his wife?”

“I don’t know, but knowing Malfoy, it’s probably something twisted.”

Hermione shrugged it off. She wasn’t going to waste any more time today thinking about the snarky blond. Although, catching him off guard had done wonders for her mood. She was feeling more upbeat than she had for weeks. 

Then a disturbing idea popped into her head. “Did you buy Malfoy’s excuse of being here to get a drink?”

“Well, it is a café.”

“It’s a little strange though, don’t you think? Of all cafes in the whole of Muggle London, he picks this one. And what is he _doing_ in Muggle London in the first place?”

Ginny looked at her. “I see where you’re coming from, but it could just be a coincidence.”

“But I do have Millicent Bulstrode as my midwife.”

“She wouldn’t!” the redhead exclaimed.

“Why not? It’s not as if I can exactly prove that she’s told Malfoy about my appointment with her.”

“But, he came in here a good ten minutes after we got here.”

“He may be Malfoy, but he’s not stupid. To make it look like an accident, he’d have to give us some time to be here. If he followed in right behind us, then it would look really dodgy.”

“No! She wouldn’t, surely? It would be a complete breach of the patient confidentiality code.”

“It would also be a completely Slytherin thing to do,” she remarked.

Ginny shook her head. “I really hope she hasn’t, but you are beginning to make me think that’s what happened.”

“I guess the only way to find out is if he ‘bumps’ into me after my next appointment.”

“Well, if he does, then surely we’ll be able to pin something on Bulstrode and get her sacked. That would then get rid of your problem of having her as your midwife.”

Hermione nodded her head. She started to gather her belongings together as she had to get back to work. She’d been given the morning off for her appointment but was expected to return to work after lunch. She tutted as she gathered all her leaflets together before noticing that her appointment schedule had disappeared. 

“That bloody sneaky Slytherin!” she exclaimed.

Ginny looked at her enquiringly. “He’s gone and nicked my appointment schedule!” Hermione wailed. “Now he won’t need Bulstrode to figure out when my next appointment is.”

Ginny groaned but helped Hermione collect the remaining scattered leaflets. A Galleon rested among them. “Here, you must’ve dropped some money.”

“Oh! Thanks,” Hermione said, surprised before pocketing it.


	6. Husbands and Wives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We see more of Astoria in this chapter. I'm trying not to write a comedy villain for this so I've based her on my best friend at school, who is possibly the most self-centred, self-absorbed person I've ever met. She found it impossible to look at anything from other people's perspective. Thanks as always to pagan for all her help with this story.

Astoria wandered disconsolately through Malfoy Manor, making her way down the main staircase. She was bored and it seemed all she did these days was walk aimlessly around. She socialised with her friends, of course, but currently, they all seemed to make pointed remarks about Draco’s absence which was becoming all too familiar. 

Her husband really was beginning to cause problems. Long gone were the days where he would gratefully do what she wanted, happy to no longer be a social pariah. Now he delighted in being infuriating. She had also thought that her prestige would continue to grow the longer she remained his wife, but sadly, it hadn’t worked out that way. Whilst she might be Queen Bee amongst her set of friends, the older purebloods tended to ignore her, preferring to defer to Narcissa. As for Draco’s set of friends, they had never really warmed to her. She reckoned it was because they were jealous – that was definitely true for Pansy and Millicent. Neither had managed to land him and although they remained friendly with Daphne, they showed nothing but contempt for her. 

She sighed, fed-up with the status quo. She wanted to be treated with more respect. After all, if it weren’t for her, then Draco would still be on the sidelines of society, reviled for being a failed Death Eater. She had personally revived the Malfoy fortunes and did they give her any credit for it? No! Instead, it was all nagging about heirs and duty. 

Astoria stopped as she heard voices coming from within Draco’s study. She hadn’t even realised her feet were taking her this way as she tended to avoid the room whenever possible. For a start, it was where Draco tended to spend so much time working on boring things that took him away from squiring her around to various social events. Secondly, it was dull; it was all work and dusty tomes with nothing fun or bright or airy in there. 

She was about to turn away and go back to the drawing room when Pansy’s clear tones rang out. “Draco, are you sure Astoria can’t hear us?” 

“No, she never comes this way. Why do you think I spend so much time in here?”

Astoria bristled at this. How dare her husband speak about her in such a way to others? It was outrageous. She moved closer to the door and peeked through the gap. She could see her husband, Pansy, and Millicent gathered around the fireplace. Draco, as usual these days, looked stressed. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to age really badly.

She didn’t care for herself, but it would give her friends even more to reason to be bitchy. His good looks were one of the reasons her friends were so jealous – that, and his money. She knew they would jump into bed with him in a heartbeat whether they were her friends or not, which caused her to shudder. If it weren’t for the fact that he would be cheating on her, then she would be more than happy for that to happen. She found sex distasteful. It was so sweaty and messed up your hair. She had been pleased when Draco had moved out of the room they had shared as a married couple and stopped all sexual relations. 

“What do you mean? Why would you want to avoid Astoria?” Millicent asked.

Astoria saw her husband sigh. _Don’t you dare_ , she thought. She couldn’t bear the thought that those two women would know that she and Draco weren’t happily married. They had never liked her and hadn’t bothered to hide it. They were so boringly disapproving towards her.

“Astoria and I have been having problems for years now. We pretty much lead separate lives.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell us this?” Pansy asked.

“No one knows except Astoria’s family. We like to try and keep up appearances.”

“Oh, Draco! We’re your good friends. You can tell us anything. We wouldn’t breathe a word.”

“I know, but you know what my family’s like: we guard our privacy. Besides, I’m telling you now and I’m not going to hold anything back.”

Astoria folded her arms and frowned in her husband’s direction. What was this all about? Something had been up with him for days. Well, more than usual. It wasn’t as if he was usually a ray of sunshine anyway. 

“Good. Now, what’s this about you following Granger around?” 

“Yes, Draco, you owe me some answers. If Granger finds out I told you about her appointment, I’ll lose my job. And I _like_ my job,” Millicent said.

Astoria stopped and placed a hand up to her lips. She was about to start nibbling on her nails when she realised that she needed to preserve her manicure. She hadn’t bitten her nails since she was a young teenager and she didn’t want to start up again. It really ruined one’s fingers.

“What I’m going to tell you can go no further; it stays in this room. You can’t even tell Adrian, okay, Pans?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Now spill!”

“Astoria and I have been going to a fertility clinic to help us conceive.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Draco, I didn’t realise you had fertility problems,” Millicent said sympathetically.

Draco ran an agitated hand through his hair. “I _do not_ have fertility problems! Why does everyone think that?”

“Because the clinics are called fertility clinics for a reason,” Millicent replied sarcastically.

Astoria watched as her husband took a deep breath and steeled himself. “Well, we’re not going for that reason. We haven’t had sex for ages.”

Astoria pursed her lips in anger. How dare Draco divulge these things to the little girl groupies he had? 

“What?” Pansy exclaimed, shocked. “Things are that bad?”

Draco nodded. “I need an heir. As soon as I get one, I’ll get rid of her.”

Astoria narrowed her eyes. This was news to her. Lucius had made her sign that ridiculous contract when Draco had first started bringing up the possibility of divorce and she’d happily signed it, ready to sacrifice her figure for a year to retain her position as his wife. But there had been no hint of her being kicked out. She thought back to Chris Harper, her boyfriend at the time she had met Draco. He’d warned her when she dumped him to chase Draco’s riches not to mess with the Malfoys.

\--------

_“Sure, they might be down on their luck now, Astoria, but they’ll be back to the top soon and unless you’re willing to play the perfect wife, they’ll make your life a misery.”_

_“Oh, please, Chris, stop being so bitter. This is my opportunity and I’m going to grab it with both hands. Besides, Draco’ll be so grateful that a girl wants to be with him that my place will be secure.”_

_Chris gave her a pitying look. “For all your wiles, you’re not as adept as you think you are at playing these games. Draco might be falling for your charms now, but don’t count on it lasting.”_

_She laughed lightly. “Come now! Who says I can’t keep a man in my coils for longer than a few years?”_

_He looked scornfully at her. “I’ve been your boyfriend, remember? You play sweetness and light really convincingly at the beginning, honey, but you can’t keep the act up for long.”_

_She tossed her hair. “I’ll keep it up until I get that ring on my finger.”_

_“Good luck to you, then. But be careful and heed my words: the Malfoys have been playing the power game for longer than anyone can remember. It’s bred into them and whilst Draco may have more of his mother’s compassion in him, he’s still as ruthless as they get when he wants to be.”_

_“Please! It’s Draco; he’s good at talking but when it comes to it, he’s never been able to follow through. We discovered that at Hogwarts.”_

_He chuckled mirthlessly. “That was Draco playing a man’s game when he was nothing but a boy. But mess with Malfoy notions of family and you’ll live to regret it. My family knows that thanks to my great-aunt. She was meant to marry Abraxas but cheated on him and was soon tossed out. Abraxas made sure she got no other offers of marriage from another pureblood and she had to marry the Muggle she’d cheated on him with.”_

_“I’m not stupid enough to cheat on him.”_

_“I know that! You’re a cold fish, but Draco isn’t. He’s more romantic than anyone gives him credit for.”_

_“That’s just sour grapes. You don’t know Draco well enough for that.”_

_“That’s what you think. I was lying on a sofa at the back of the common room when Draco and Pansy split up. Everyone thinks he broke up with her, but I know the truth: it was her who broke it off because she didn’t love him, and he was devastated.”_

_“You’re just making this easier for me. Thanks to you, I now know how pathetic he is. It should be easy to wrap him around my little finger.”_

\--------

Astoria was pulled out of her thoughts by Pansy. “Oh no, that’s terrible, Draco. Are you sure you can’t resurrect the marriage? You were so happy at the beginning.”

“I was lonely and infatuated. Astoria appeared to be everything I wanted, but the reality is that she’s shallow and money-grabbing.”

Astoria curled her lip as she watched Pansy engulf Draco in a massive hug. 

“But what does this have to do with Granger?” Millicent asked bluntly.

Draco ran a hand through his hair. “That’s where it gets complicated.”

“More complicated than a married couple with no fertility problems going to a clinic to get pregnant rather than sleep with each other?”

“Apparently so, Millie. There was a mix-up with the sperm at the laboratory and Granger is pregnant with my child.”

Millicent spat out her mouthful of pumpkin juice whilst Pansy looked aghast. It was nothing to Astoria’s own reaction, though. Her jaw dropped and she stood there gawping through the gap in the door. Her first thought was gratitude that she hadn’t conceived. She could have been pregnant with some stranger’s baby. It was bad enough when she was going to have to get over her dislike of children to breed with Draco, but a stranger? That would have been awful. 

Then the reality of the situation hit. Granger — Hermione Granger — was pregnant with the next Malfoy baby. Any small chance she had of retaining her position through a child was now gone. 

“Please tell me you’re kidding,” Pansy said faintly.

“Sadly, I’m not. She’s pregnant and I’m the father.”

“That explains why she was so cagey about the father’s details at her appointment.”

“What are you going to do about Astoria?”

“See how this plays out for the moment, but Astoria is history.”

“About time too, Draco. She’s awful,” Pansy said.

“She’s not pregnant as well, is she?” Millicent asked.

“Thank Salazar, no!”

Astoria narrowed her eyes and glared before she whirled away and paced down the corridor silently. She made her way back up to her room and sat on the edge of the bed. She had to think if she was going to salvage anything out of this mess. If Draco thought that he could just dump her as if she were an out-of-date potion ingredient, then he could think again. Her mind swung to Lucius. He couldn’t know that a Mudblood was carrying his precious Malfoy heir. If there was something she could count on, it was Lucius wanting to keep his bloodlines pure. If Draco thought he was going to chuck her out with no problems, he needed to think again.

\-------

Back down in his study, Draco was unaware that his wife had heard any of that.

“Who else knows?” Pansy asked.

“My parents and Granger, obviously, and I think all of her friends. I know she’s told Potter as I had the pleasure of being hauled into his office a few days ago and read the riot act. Oh, and my lawyer.”

“Is your father okay about it?” 

“Surprisingly so. I think he’s got to the point where he just wants me to have a kid and he doesn’t care who the mother is.”

Pansy smiled wryly. “I can’t believe I’m witnessing the day when Lucius Malfoy is happy for a Muggle-born to be carrying a Malfoy baby.”

“So if you’re the father, why did you need me to place that tracking Galleon in her pregnancy pack?” Millicent asked.

“Because she doesn’t want me anywhere near her or the baby,” he said, rubbing his temples with his fingers. 

“What? Can she do that?” Pansy asked, outraged.

He shrugged his shoulders. “That’s what I have Horatio working on. If her contract at the clinic turns out to be binding, then I will get no say in my child’s life.”

“But, Draco, you’ve been wanting a kid for years.”

He got up and turned away from his two friends. He didn’t want them to see the tears in his eyes, but Pansy was right. He had wanted a child for a long while. He wanted more than one and had fantasised about having a large family when he’d married Astoria. Of course, she’d been happy to go along with his vision as long as she got the ring on her finger. 

He’d met up with Astoria again a few years after the war. She’d won him over with her sweet nature. He had been struggling to rebuild his family name after the war, and she’d soothed his ego with her caring attitude and kind words. She had taken an interest in him by actually wanting to listen, and he had poured his heart out about how stressful his life was. Little had he known, but she was actually a shrew. She’d hid her true nature it until he’d stuck that ring on her finger. 

She’d made his life a misery for the last seven years; all she cared about was the Malfoy name and money. She had no qualms that they would regain their position once more in the magical community. They had never really lost it in the pureblood circles and it wasn’t long before they were back on top. At first, he had taken this as her wanting him to regain his reputation to quell his depression, but it had soon dawned on him that it was really all about Astoria. She wanted to live as previous Malfoy wives had: ruling the roost.

He’d allowed his father to persuade him to stay married to the harpy and to continue trying to conceive the all-elusive but much-needed Malfoy heir. His father had emphasised how important it was that the Malfoy bloodlines continued, and once the baby was born, he could get rid of his wife. So he had acquiesced. After all, he’d grown up knowing that the Malfoy line was one of the oldest and most prestigious. It wouldn’t do to let it die out. 

It then turned out that Astoria didn’t want a baby. She’d been taking contraceptives on the sly — a fact that had brought Draco to his breaking point. He’d refused to sleep with her anymore, which he hadn’t enjoyed in a long while, anyway. His father had come up with this solution: artificial insemination. Astoria would carry a Malfoy baby to term, give birth, and then hand it over to Draco in exchange for a large pay-off. Lucius Malfoy had closed all loopholes with an iron-tight, legally binding contract that Astoria had been forced to sign. 

Of course, Astoria wasn’t aware of the fact that they would be getting rid of her. She enjoyed the trappings of being married into the one of the most powerful pureblood families and wouldn’t give that up easily. Lucius had worded the contract in such a way that Astoria thought she was being guaranteed a role as a Malfoy for life if she had a baby. Draco agreed purely because he didn’t want to hunt around for another pureblood wife to breed with after divorcing Astoria. Having an heir would mean that he could enjoy his life without his father breathing down his neck.

He wasn’t too sorry that the mix-up had happened. He didn’t really want Astoria’s mercenary genes in the Malfoy family. They already had enough bad traits in the family gene pool, but he wasn’t so sure that he wanted it to be screwed up quite as dramatically as the situation was now. 

He was tapped on the back and brought of out his depressing reverie. He turned around to find Pansy. “You know we’re all behind you. No matter what, we’ll be there and we’ll help.”

He smiled at his ex-girlfriend and long-time friend. “I know. It’s what helps.”

“Don’t keep this bottled up again. There’s nothing wrong with admitting you have problems in your marriage and it’s not as if it’s exactly a surprise. None of us have ever liked Astoria.”

“I know, but you know what I’m like, Pans. My pride doesn’t allow me to open up.”

“Your pride is what’s stopping you from being happy!”

Millicent, never one for emotional moments, butted in. “So, what are you going to do about Granger?”

Draco ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. My father has hopes that I can somehow charm Granger into cooperating with us, but I don’t see it. She hates me and she’s not shy about hiding it.”

“It’s worth a shot, though, isn’t it?” Millicent asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I guess. It’s better than dragging this through the courts.”

“We’ll try and find out all we can about her, won’t we, Millie?”

“Sure,” Millicent agreed. “She keeps herself to herself, though. I haven’t heard anything about her for ages.”

“Any information you can get would be helpful,” Draco commented.

The two women got up, ready to leave. “Don’t be a stranger, Draco. Adrian was complaining just the other day that we don’t see you enough. You’ve started to lock yourself away.”

“Business takes up all my time.”

“Hmm… Why do I think that’s just a convenient excuse?”

“Because that’s precisely what it is, Pans,” Millicent said.

He couldn’t help but grin. “Okay, so I’ve not been feeling social. I’ll make more of an effort.”

Pansy pointed her finger at him threateningly. “You’d better! Adrian needs a Seeker for this Saturday’s Quidditch match. I promised I would coerce you into agreeing to play.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Pans. I’m not really in the mood for Quidditch.”

She walked over and playfully tugged on a lock of hair. “You work too hard. You’re going to age prematurely and lose that luscious hair if you don’t relax more. I’m not taking no for answer. Adrian’s booked a pitch up in the North York Moors; we’re meeting at the Wonky Cauldron at Little Fryup at ten o’clock, Saturday morning, and you’d better be there!”

“Okay, okay. I’ll be there.”

“And bring your A-game, Draco. I don’t like to lose,” Millicent said.

\---------

“Hermione! Thank Merlin you’re here!” Ginny exclaimed as soon as the brunette made her way through the Potters’ Floo connection.

“What’s the emergency?”

“Harry won’t let me play! He says it’s too risky now that I’m pregnant. Tell him he’s being a pig.”

“Ginny, be realistic. What if you got hit by a Bludger or something?” Harry pleaded.

“You’re being ridiculous. I’ll be fine!”

“Then how come you always went on leave when you were pregnant when playing with the Harpies?”

“That was professional Quidditch! Of course, I couldn’t play pregnant. This is just a Saturday league match.”

“I’m not taking the risk!”

“Hermione! Tell him!”

She looked between the arguing pair. “Er… I’m sure Ginny wouldn’t take a risk with the baby, Harry.”

Her redheaded friend beamed at her whilst Harry frowned. “I’m really not sure—” he started.

“Please, honey, I’ll be really careful.”

“Don’t even think about it, mate,” George said, walking into the kitchen. “If you let her play, I’ll pull out the big brother card and ban her.”

Ginny put her hands on her hips. “You can’t order me around!”

“Maybe not, but I will pick you up and tie you to this chair if you aren’t reasonable about this.”

The fiery witch brandished her wand. “Just try it and I’ll hex you so much, _you’ll_ be unable to play.”

“You’ll find it’s three against one,” Ron said from behind George. “We’re playing a bunch of Slytherins, which means this will get dirty, so don’t even think about playing.”

Ginny threw her hands up in the air. “You’re so unfair.”

“Besides, don’t you want to keep Hermione company?” Harry asked.

“Don’t bring me into this by using me as an excuse,” Hermione said, objecting to that tactic.

“Anyway, you know Hermione always brings a book, so it’s not as if she’s reliant on me to entertain her.”

The three men stood in a row, confronting her. “You’re not playing and that’s final,” George said emphatically.

“Where are we going anyway?” Hermione asked, hoping to diffuse the tension.

“Pucey booked the pitch up in Little Fryup, which means Ginny isn’t playing even more. The weather up there can be wild and windy,” Harry said, seemingly finding his backbone now he had back up from Ron and George.

Ginny was now sitting on a chair at the table, sulking with her arms folded. “You’re all being pathetic.”

“Pathetic or not, the baby comes first,” her husband remarked.

George rubbed his hands. “Okay, now that’s been sorted, shall we get going?”

His sister glared at him, refusing to look at the other two before flouncing her way over to Hermione. The brunette couldn’t help but smile; no doubt Harry would find a way to make it up to his wife over the course of the day.


	7. The Sins of the Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter has no Draco or Hermione in it! It's the first time I've ever done this but I needed to focus on the other Malfoy characters for reasons that will be obvious when you get to the end. Thanks, as always, to the wonderful pagan for betaing this for me.

Lucius frowned at the knock on the door. He really needed to finish drafting this latest version of his will before it was too late.

“Come in!” he barked.

His frown deepened into a scowl as the door opened and revealed his daughter-in-law.

“What do you want, Astoria?” he asked.

“I need to talk to you.”

“I gathered that, otherwise you wouldn’t be bothering me when I’m busy.”

She flushed but came into the room anyway. He sighed as she perched on the edge of the chair opposite his desk. It appeared that this was going to be a lengthy visit. He put away the parchment he was working on, making sure her prying eyes couldn’t see it. Astoria might not be in the same league as the Malfoys when it came to intrigue, but she was still a Slytherin. 

“How can I help you?” he asked.

“It’s about Draco,” she replied.

“What about him?”

Astoria gnawed on her lip, obviously not too sure how to proceed. He was the one person in the household she was careful around. It was almost as if she knew he’d destroy her if she put a foot wrong. “I heard something the other day.”

“And what was that?”

His daughter-in-law looked up from under her lashes at him, attempting to play off her wiles. She’d have to try a lot harder than that, as she wasn’t a patch on Narcissa. 

“That there will soon be a half-blood Malfoy.”

Lucius paused and narrowed his eyes at her. Astoria obviously wasn’t aware that he already knew, which meant she was coming to him in order to cause mischief. 

“Is that so? And how exactly has that come about? As far as I know—and believe me, I would know—my son has always been faithful to you.”

Astoria didn’t question how he would know. She already knew that he had a nasty habit of being aware of everything that happened within the Malfoy family. It was one of the perks of being the head of the household—the house-elves were obliged to tell him any titbit of news they heard and house-elves heard more than anyone gave them credit for. Look at that pesky Dobby.

“Has Draco not told you?”

“Told me what?”

Astoria looked at him for a brief moment as if she was analysing his answer. Lucius wasn’t giving anything away, though. 

“Well, there was a mix-up with the sperm donations at the clinic and Draco’s sperm went to a different woman,” she explained informatively, then paused, giving him an opportunity to respond.

He said nothing, just gestured for her to continue.

“He got Hermione Granger pregnant. She’s carrying the next Malfoy heir,” she said dramatically.

Lucius steepled his fingers and stared across at her. “I take it you’re coming to me so I do something regarding this. What exactly do you have in mind?”

It was never a bad thing to work out what others wanted from you before revealing your hand. But he was having a hard time not putting her firmly in her place and sending her on her way.

She threw her hands out. “Stop this from happening! It’s ridiculous: a half-blood Malfoy and not with any Muggle-born, but Potter’s best friend. Get rid of it.”

There was a loaded silence. Astoria looked eager, almost as if she was expecting him to start brainstorming some ideas. But, he was more concerned with trying to rein his temper in. How could this chit of a girl come into his study, sit down and tell him to get rid of an unborn Malfoy? Whether the baby was of tainted blood or not, family meant everything to him.

“Get rid of it?” he hissed menacingly, leaning forward across the desk.

His daughter-in-law drew back in alarm at the suppressed anger on his face.

“Are you really so stupid that you think I wouldn’t be aware of this? That I wouldn’t be the first person Draco came to? Do you really think that _you_ would be the one to bring this news to me?”

“I… er… I—” she stammered.

“And you dare sit there and tell me to get rid of it? Who are you to dictate what the Malfoys do? You are nothing!”

“I’m his wife!” Astoria fired up.

Lucius snorted. “Some wife you are! You denied him a child and have used this family as a stepping stone for your own gain.”

“I made him! It’s because of that me that’s he—and, in association, you—is anything at all.”

He laughed curtly. “You stupid little girl. You think you had anything to do with the revival of the Malfoy name? That the _Greengrasses_ are so important they have reinstated a great family like mine?”

She twisted her hands and looked down, unsure of what to say. 

“Your silence speaks volumes, my dear. Your father is only able to support his lavish lifestyle thanks to Malfoy money and business acumen. Draco turned the Greengrass fortunes, not the other way round. We would be in the position we are in with or without you.”

“If that were true, then how come Draco was so desperate to date me?”

A small, mean smile played around his lips. “Do you really want me to answer that? Lust can make a man do all kinds of silly things. And you are a tidy little package who can be entertaining at times. I’ve particularly enjoyed how you’ve tried to surpass my wife—failing miserably, of course. My Narcissa has the brains and cunning to match her beauty. That makes her rather formidable. You are nothing but a silly little girl playing in a world she has no clue about.”

Astoria looked put out by that. She pouted and seemed unable to answer. Her father-in-law used this opportunity to drive home his point and get rid of her once and for all.

“But now Draco has another woman pregnant, you’ve outstayed your welcome and I have no further use of you. I want you gone by the end of the week.”

She stared at him in shock. “What do you mean?”

“Do you really need me to spell it out to you? You are no longer welcome in this house and if you are still here by the end of the week, I’ll instruct the house-elves to remove you—by force, if necessary.”

“You can’t do that!”

He smirked. “I’m the head of the house. I can do whatever I want.”

Astoria’s face mottled red in anger as she heaved herself out of her chair and slammed her hands, palms down, on his desk. “You’ll regret this. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make you pay.”

He rolled his eyes. “Girl, I’ve lived through the Dark Lord. Do you think I’m going to be afraid of you?”

“You’ll see,” she snarled at him before turning and flouncing out of the room.

\----------

Narcissa silently slipped into the shadows across the door and watched as her outraged daughter-in-law stormed up the corridor away from Lucius’ study. She’d followed Astoria, disliking the spiteful look she’d had on her face all day. And her gut feeling had been right. The younger witch was up to no good.

Now, she stood uncertainly in the doorway as she watched her husband sigh, pull a piece of parchment towards him and started writing.

She waited until Lucius had finished whatever he was working on so furiously. She knew better than to disturb him when he was busy. If she wanted his full and undivided attention, then it was better to wait until he wasn’t distracted by a business interest. The converse was true when she wanted him to agree to something that he wouldn’t normally approve of. It wasn’t always easy living with a domineering male, but Narcissa had found ways around her husband’s intractable character. But now she waited patiently, mentally worrying about what trouble Astoria could cause for the family and her son.

Lucius finally lifted his head and spotted his silent wife. “Cissy! How long have you been there?”

“Not long,” Narcissa lied. She enjoyed getting to observe him when he wasn’t aware of her presence.

“You should have interrupted me,” he said.

“You looked busy. I didn’t want to break your concentration.”

Lucius smiled the tender smile only she got to see before standing up and coming around his desk. He kissed her hand before leading her over to the sofa seating area under the large windows. Even after all these years, the old-fashioned courtesy always made her heart beat faster.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

“I overheard your conversation with Astoria.”

He sighed and smoothed his hair back. “I don’t want you to worry about it. I can handle any pathetic attempt at revenge she throws our way.”

“I don’t doubt that she’s not in your league when it comes to such matters, but she could still cause damage. She knows about Granger and that could hurt us.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want you getting anxious over this. She’ll pout and rant and rave for a few days, but with some choice words to her father, she’ll be gone and out of our lives.”

“I think you’re wrong, Lucius. You haven’t spent as much time with her as I have, and around you she’s always been so careful, but that girl is as spiteful as they come and she’ll want to destroy this family.”

He laughed, amused. “Come, Narcissa, it’ll take more than her to achieve that. Look at what we’ve been through in the last decade.”

“She knows things. Draco talked to her at the beginning. She could do a lot of damage to him.”

He squeezed her hands. “There’s no need to be anxious. Whatever she throws at us, we’ll confront head on.”

“You need to be careful, darling. This is already a messy situation and she could muddy the waters further.”

“We have to concentrate on the problem with Granger first.”

“Why _are_ you being so accepting of this pregnancy? I’ve never known you to even suggest that a half-blood Malfoy might be okay.”

He looked torn for a moment—almost as if he was debating whether or not to tell her something. She let him play it out in his head, knowing that she couldn’t rush this decision. He stupidly liked to think she was delicate and unable to handle bad news. He’d become worse since the Great Battle, irritated at how his decisions had put his wife and son in such danger. 

He finally opened his mouth. “There’s something I’ve been keeping from you.”

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been unwell.”

“What do you mean, unwell?”

“I’ve been having regular treatment at St. Mungo’s for a potentially life-threatening disease. In fact, it’s killing me and the Healers are unsure how to treat it.”

Narcissa stared at him for a long moment whilst she tried to digest the news. How had she not known her husband was sick? And not just a little ill but seriously sick? She suddenly became angry, jumping up from the sofa and pacing in front of him. 

“I can’t believe you, Lucius Malfoy. I’ve put up with this ridiculous idea you have of sheltering me from everything for the past decade, but _this_? This is going too far. You _cannot_ hide such things from me.”

He rested his elbows on his knees and put his head into his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to see the fear in your eyes once more, Cissy. It nearly killed me the last time that happened.”

She dropped down in front of him, lifting his head up so she could stare into his eyes. “We will get through this and we’ll do it together.”

“They aren’t too hopeful at the moment.”

“How long have you known?”

“About three years. I started feeling the effects around five years ago but it took me a while to go to St. Mungo’s.”

Narcissa rocked back on her heels. “That long?” she whispered.

Lucius picked her up and sat her on his lap. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck, her hands wound around him. They sat like that for a long while, neither moving nor talking and just taking comfort in each other’s presence. 

Finally, Narcissa sat up, straightened her robes and dried her eyes. “Okay, we can deal with this.”

He smiled at her. “That’s my girl.”

She turned to him. “Tell me what they know.”

“They think it’s a result of being exposed to too much unusual dark magic. I was there when the Dark Lord started experimenting with new spells.”

“And this could be fatal?”

“They aren’t really sure, but my symptoms aren’t encouraging. It appears that each time I have an attack, my body gets a little bit weaker.”

“Attacks?”

“I get painful attacks, where it feels as if I’m under the Cruciatus spell. It results in shaking, sweating, breathlessness, and sometimes I black out,” he outlined bleakly.

Narcissa gasped. “How have you hidden this from me?”

“With lots of luck, and the fact that I start to feel dizzy before the attack fully hits. It means that I can usually make my excuses and either get to the hospital or isolate myself.”

“How can the Healers not know what this is? Are you the only person suffering?”

He shrugged. “They’re not sure. They think anyone who was present when Lord Voldemort was experimenting could be affected.”

“ _Think_! They only think? How can they not know? You’re hardly the only person left alive who was present at those sessions.”

Lucius sighed. “Most of the inner circle is in Azkaban, which isn’t known to have positive benefits for your health. Look at how many have died in the past decade. Rabastan, Avery, Mulciber, Dolohov, and Rawle, to name a few. They could have died from the sheer despair of Azkaban or due to this illness.”

“Rodolphus?”

“Who knows? He’s sick but that’s to be expected with how long he’s spent in Azkaban.”

“Are they not checking his symptoms against yours?”

He gave her a level look. “He’s in prison. He’s not exactly being given the best medical care they can offer.”

She bit her lip. “So what happens now?”

“We continue the same as we were.”

“You have to tell Draco.”

“No, I won’t put this on him.”

Narcissa glared at him. “He deserves to know! You’ve allowed this to affect his life already.”

“I’ve kept this quiet precisely so it won’t affect him!” he snapped.

“How can you say that when you’ve pushed him to stay with Astoria and try for a baby?” she bit back.

He slumped back and ran his hands through his hair. “I want to make sure we’re prepared if the worst happens.”

“Exactly! This is why he needs to know.”

“He’s stressed enough as it is.”

“Lucius, don’t treat him like a boy. He’s not stupid. He’s already wondering why you are completely accepting of a half-blood Malfoy.”

“I know! But I don’t want to add another burden to him.”

“But you already have. You’re making decisions that affect him directly. You just booted his wife out.”

“Are you really going to be angry about that? You’ve been wanting to get rid of her for years.”

“I want _him_ to get rid of her. It’s not your decision to make. It’s Draco’s, and he kept her around already because you wanted him too.”

“I want what’s best for this family and right now, we need another heir. Just in case.”

She frowned at her callous husband. He could be very quick to dismiss Draco and his happiness. “Don’t you want Draco to be as happy as we are?”

He shot her an impatient look. “Cissy, I know Draco means the world to you. He does to me, too. But the most important thing at the moment is securing the Malfoy heritage.”

“What if Granger gives birth to a girl? You’d have an heir but she wouldn’t continue the Malfoy lineage.”

“There have been no first-born female Malfoy for centuries.” 

“Well, we also haven’t had Muggle-born mothers before.”

Lucius ran a hand through his hair, dishevelling it. “I’m not sure what to do about this situation and if Astoria was more acceptable, then I would have kept her around.”

“Why?”

“None of this is simple or straight forward. Horatio has been looking into the law surrounding this and it’s not looking good.”

Startled, Narcissa looked at her husband. “What do you mean, not looking good? That child is a Malfoy and we have much more to offer than that Granger girl.”

“Such a situation hasn’t happened in the United Kingdom wizarding community before. This would be a test case. And to make matters worse, the laws in this area aren’t fully developed. In fact, our courts aren’t even fully functional. If this had happened before the judiciary system was set up, then it’s likely we would have walked away with the baby. The Wizengamot is old-fashioned. The majority would’ve frowned on the Mudblood wanting to have a child out of wedlock, and I could’ve bribed any of those wavering. But these new courts are a different matter, and they are basing a lot of the law on their Muggle counterparts. Horatio informs me that in a Muggle court, the rights tend to go to the mother. They’ll also be taking our past into consideration, which does us no favours.”

“So that’s why you’ve suggested Draco charm the blasted girl.”

“I initially suggested that because I want this kept out of court. There is no need to drag the Malfoy name through the legal system and the papers. But since speaking to Horatio, I’ve come to the conclusion this may be the only way we’ll get the child,” he said

“It’ll never work.”

“Draco can be charming when he puts his mind to it.”

Narcissa scoffed. “It’s Granger. There is no love lost between them. She’ll view him with suspicion.”

“I know this,” Lucius said tiredly. “But I’m at a loss at what to do. It’s imperative that we have another generation.”

She looked at her husband with sadness. She never thought she’d see the day when he was desperate for a half-blood Malfoy. This—more than anything—brought home how serious his illness was.

\------------

Astoria’s heart was beating. How had this gone so wrong? Instead of being outraged and determined to get rid of that abomination of a foetus, Lucius had used this as an excuse to remove _her_ from the Malfoys’ lives. Where was the gratitude for her services to their stupid family? She had been prepared to become all fat and ugly just to give them another generation and what were her thanks? Divorce! Who was Lucius Malfoy to decide such matters anyway? She was married to Draco, not him.

Astoria sat down on her bed and tried to calm herself. It would do no good getting this upset. She needed to think, and fast, unless she wanted everything she’d worked for to be destroyed. 

Lucius had been right in some instances. The Greengrasses did rely on their Malfoy connections to live as they did. They had never been one of the pureblood elite or particularly very wealthy, either. But she’d always had ambitions to improve her lot in life. Unlike Daphne, she wasn’t content being on the fringe of society and marriage into the Malfoy family had offered her the chance to be plunged into the upper echelons of pureblood society. Something she’d revelled in.

However, now this was in danger of being taken away and she was prepared to fight tooth and nail for it. Whilst Lucius’ word might carry a lot of weight, it wasn’t always final. Draco could be stubborn at times and she needed him to want to keep her around.

It was time to start using her charm again. She could wrap her husband back around her little finger. She might even turn this pregnancy to her advantage. If they weren’t worried about it being a half-blood then it would take the pressure off her to have another child. She could remain thin and brat-free. 

She walked over to her mirror and analysed her features. She was only twenty-seven and she looked great, managing to retain her eighteen-year-old figure. Her features were more than pleasing, being both symmetrical and classic. She smiled; there was no way Draco would be able to resist her if she put her mind to it. 

It was time to hit Diagon Alley and pick out some of the sexiest lingerie she could find, and to seduce her husband once more.


	8. Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I've dropped the big Lucius bombshell, back to Hermione and Draco.
> 
> My thanks, as always, to my readers, especially those of you who take the time to write a review, it's much appreciated and also to pagan for betaing this chapter.

Draco, unaware of the momentous changes happening back at Malfoy Manor, was sitting in the Puceys’ front room waiting for both Pansy and Adrian to get their acts together.

“Honey, have you seen my shin guards?” Adrian called out from somewhere upstairs.

“They’re where you left them after your last game,” Pans called back.

“And where is that?”

“I don’t know! _You_ left them there. Have you tried the cupboard by Alex’s bedroom?”

“Pans, please help! I can’t find them anywhere and we were meant to be there ten minutes ago.”

“For the love of Salazar!” she yelled and Draco could hear her stomping back upstairs.

He waited thirty seconds before the next inevitable conversation.

“How come it took me less than a minute to find them? Why didn’t you bother to look _properly_? Or use _Accio_?”

“Really? Where were they?”

“Exactly where I told you to look: in the cupboard where you keep all your Quidditch gear.”

“But I’m sure I looked there.”

“You couldn’t have looked very hard.”

Draco grinned. It was always the same thing between the couple every time he saw them. They would bicker incessantly but the love they had for each other was unbreakable. His smile faded as he thought about his situation at home. He wished he had such a relationship, but unfortunately, the chasm between him and his wife was too wide. Sadly, he’d come to terms with the fact that Astoria was totally self-absorbed and was only interested as long as it was of benefit to her. 

“Draco! You’re here!” Pansy exclaimed as she walked into the room. “When did you arrive?”

“Not long ago, and don’t worry; Sippy welcomed me but I told her not to bother you,” he said, knowing how stressed Pansy got if she thought someone wasn’t welcomed appropriately to her home.

Pansy nodded at him. “I’m pleased you came. I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“I wouldn’t dare after your threats the other day.”

“I _did not_ threaten you,” she said, whacking him on the arm.

Draco saw Adrian coming into room behind Pansy. “Hey, Adrian, control your wife. She’s beating me.”

“If it gets to you to actually emerge from the Manor and stop being anti-social, then I’m all for it.”

The blond rolled his eyes. “And you’re too scared of your wife to say anything.”

Adrian pretended not to hear this. “Anyway, we were meant to meet Potter ten minutes ago, so we’d better get going.”

“Hang on a minute, no one said we were playing against Potter,” Draco objected.

His friends just ignored him and strong-armed him over to the Floo Network. “You’re kidding me, right? I’m not playing against him.”

“Tough, Draco, I need a Seeker and you’re here now.”

He groaned. He hadn’t played Quidditch for years and he was now going up against the one player whom he could never beat. Things didn’t get worse than this. 

Of course, Draco was wrong and he realised it the minute he stepped into the main bar of the Wonky Cauldron and spotted Granger. He should’ve realised she’d be there. She always did appear at every match Potter played despite having a dislike of the sport. 

“I’m going to kill you,” he hissed in the direction of Pansy, who at least had the grace to look guilty.

“I didn’t realise she’d be here!”

“It’s Potter. Can he survive for a single second without his coterie of gingers and Granger?”

Pansy shrugged. “I guess it’ll give you an opportunity to speak to her. You know, put your father’s plan into action.”

“Yeah, because being surrounded by Weasleys is conducive to such a thing happening.”

“Stop being so negative.”

He gave her a scornful look but appeared to take her advice as he walked towards Granger. 

“What was that all about?” Adrian asked his wife.

“Nothing for you to worry your pretty head about.”

“Why is it whenever you say things like that, it always means it _is_ something to worry about.”

She patted his cheek. “Silly!”

\--------------

“Ouch!” Hermione said as Ginny poked her in the ribs and pulled her away from Dean and Katie, who she’d been talking to. Hermione turned to face her annoying redheaded friend. “What was that for?”

“I don’t want to worry you, but Malfoy’s here.”

“What? Where?” she asked, panicking and slewing her head around.

“Right here, Granger.”

She spun around and sure enough, there was Malfoy, his broom slung over his shoulder, looking relaxed and happy. Why did he have to be there? She’d never seen him at any of the previous Quidditch matches that her friends had played against the former Slytherins. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked accusingly.

He waved his broomstick in her direction. “Playing. What do you think I’m doing?”

“I’ve never seen you at any of these matches before.”

“Yes, well, I was talked into it and what a happy coincidence, as I get to see the lovely mother of my child.”

She narrowed her eyes at his sarcasm before folding her arms defensively against her chest and looking around to check if anyone had heard. “Say that any louder and I’ll make sure my child has no biological father.”

“At least you’re admitting I have a role.”

“A tiny, miniscule one that is thankfully over. Now run along and bug someone else.”

He shot her glare but before he could reply with something she was sure would be cutting, Ginny intervened. “Is this all the either of you are going to do every time you see each other?”

“What?” Hermione asked her friend, surprised.

“Well, I mean, it’s not very productive. You can argue over the fact that you’re both in this mess until you’re blue in the face but it’s not going to change the fact that you are.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“Yours, Hermione, you know that, but you have to admit that you need to sit down with Malfoy and discuss this like mature adults.”

She looked from Ginny to the smugly smirking Malfoy. If this was anyone else, she was sure that she would’ve been able to be less defensive and try to work out a compromise but it _was_ Malfoy, and suspicions were hard to get rid of. She still wasn’t sure what his endgame was and she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. 

“Weaselette’s right. We do need to discuss this properly.”

“Well, I’m not doing that here. This is completely the wrong venue for it.”

“But you admit that we do need to have a talk?” the blond pressed.

She sighed. She supposed she could do that. She couldn’t continually bury her head in the sand about it and whilst she might have more rights under the new legal system being rolled out through the wizarding community, prejudices and attitudes were slow to change. Malfoy would get more sympathy than her if this came to light. There was also the fact that he could offer the baby a stable family life, which would play well with the courts. It was at times like this when she wished she were a Muggle.

“Alright, I’ll talk to you. Let’s make it next weekend.”

“That’s too far away.”

She rolled her eyes. Of course he’d quibble over the smallest thing. It probably went against a personal code for him to accept anything she suggested without arguing. “When, then?” she asked.

“In the coming week. After work. I can do Monday, Wednesday, or Thursday.”

Well, she certainly wasn’t doing Monday. It was only two days away and she wanted more time to prepare. “Wednesday,” she said.

“Where?”

“Somewhere Muggle. I’m not having this discussion where anyone can overhear us.”

He nodded curtly. “Okay, but then you need to suggest somewhere. And, Granger, make it easy to find.”

She wracked her brain trying to think of a location Malfoy would be able to find. There was no point suggesting anywhere he would have to get public transport to, which narrowed her list to places around the Leaky Cauldron and Charing Cross Road. She then remembered that she’d bumped into him after her appointment with Bulstrode. She was still suspicious about that but it meant she could use somewhere around St. Mungo’s, which was less busy than the Leaky Cauldron, thus even less likely that any wizard would spot them.

“How about that café I saw you in the other day?”

Out the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Ginny whip her face towards her but she was more focused on Malfoy’s reaction. There was a tightening in his jaw that would have been imperceptible had she not been looking for a reaction.

“Er… remind me of where it was again?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You followed me there, didn’t you?”

“No! Of course I didn’t.”

“If that’s the case, then how come you can’t remember where it is?”

“I stumbled across it and realised I was thirsty.”

“It’s Oxford Street, there are plenty of places to get a drink and I don’t believe you for a second.”

He scowled. “Okay, so I followed you.”

Hermione looked at Ginny, who raised her eyebrows, before turning her attention back to Malfoy. “We’ll talk about that later, and the role of Bulstrode, but for now, I’ll give you directions to meet me there.” 

She scrabbled about in her handbag until she found a scrap of parchment, where she wrote directions easy enough for a child to follow and handed them to the blond. His scowl deepened as he read the simplistic but detailed language she’d used.

“I’m not the Weasel, Granger.”

“After your behaviour, you don’t get to criticise anyone else.”

Malfoy looked as if he wanted to say something obnoxious but he apparently thought better of it. If he did start with the insults, there was no way she would meet him. Instead, he nodded and stuck out his hand for her shake, almost as if he thought she wouldn’t stand him up if she’d shaken on it. It was the first time she’d voluntarily touched him and it felt strange. She half-expected him to wipe his hand on his Quidditch robes and complain about Mudblood germs but he settled with turning away and going to talk to Bulstrode.

“See, that wasn’t too bad,” Ginny remarked.

She glared at her meddlesome friend. “No thanks to you.”

The redhead sighed. “Come on, Hermione, you have to stop thinking about yourself. You share a child with Malfoy and no amount of burying your head in the sand is going to change that fact. And unless you want this dragged out through the courts and the media, I suggest you try and compromise with him.”

“But I really don’t want him to share custody with him.”

Ginny wrapped her arm around her. “I get that, I really do. But you might not have a choice. The sooner you come to terms with that, the better.”

Hermione’s heart sank. Ginny was talking sense and she couldn’t deny it. As much as she wanted to keep Malfoy out of this, there was every chance that a court would grant him access to their child. Merlin, that stuck in the throat. _Their_ child. The baby was no longer just hers. It was obvious Malfoy wasn’t going away and she had to deal with that.

\----------

Draco hadn’t felt as positive about things for a long while and it showed in the way he played. Of course, he hadn’t beaten Potter to the Snitch but there were some things he’d just had to come to accept the older he got, and the fact that he would never out-fly Potter was one of those things.

But the conversation with Granger had given him some hope. Okay, so she was still hostile to him and obviously angry now she’d rumbled him—but she had agreed to meet him. Maybe, they would be able to come to an arrangement. And if he was really lucky, he might just be able to persuade her to give him custody of this child whilst he paid for her to have more treatment. That way, they could all go their separate ways and not be tied to each other for life.

He snorted as he realised he was getting ahead of himself once more. The last time he’d done that, he’d ended up married to Astoria. And that wasn’t a mistake he wanted to repeat any time soon. Besides, he really couldn’t see Granger not being attached to this particular child. She was the sentimental type. And then, there was the fact that Potter and his friends had always managed to confound him. They were annoying like that. 

He sighed as he climbed the secondary staircase that led to his private rooms. He could do with a long, hot shower. Playing today made him realise just how long it had been since he’d had a really good physical workout.

He’d spent the last few years taking over the reins of the Malfoy business interests from his father. He still wasn’t quite sure why Lucius had been in such a rush to start training him. Usually, the Malfoy heirs were allowed to have a career in something that interested them before having to taking over the family portfolio. His father had specialised in cursed objects. Then again, Lucius had always been far too into the Dark Arts. Draco himself preferred Arithmancy and problem solving. Perhaps his father was making sure Draco wasn’t put in the same position he had been when his father had suddenly died. Lucius had been left trying to understand the myriad of businesses’ the Malfoys invested in and it had taken him a long time to fully grasp it all. 

Draco slung his broomstick and Quidditch equipment into the cupboard he kept them in and started to strip, anticipating his shower. He strolled into his bedroom before stopping in shock at the scene that confronted him.

There, draped across his bed, scantily clad in expensive lingerie, was his wife. 

His eyes roamed over her and he raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t taken this amount of trouble since they’d first started dating. Then, she’d gone all out to present herself as the perfect woman and he’d been taken in. Now, his self-preservation kicked in. To be decked out in such a way meant that she was after something and he didn’t trust her one little bit.

“Had a good game, Draco? Fancy a nice massage to relax those muscles?” she asked in a sexy voice and patted the bed suggestively.

“What do you want, Astoria?” he asked in a clipped tone.

He saw the anger flash through her eyes but she did an admirable job at suppressing the snappy reply he knew she was dying to make. “Do I have to want anything? You are my husband.”

“When it suits you,” he muttered. “We haven’t had sex for longer than I can remember. What’s brought this on?”

She got to her feet and padded across the room to him until she stood right in front of him and placed a hand on his chest. “Maybe I missed you,” she said coyly, looking at him from under her eyelashes. 

He batted her hand off his chest, moving away until he was leaning against his chest of drawers, crossing his arms over his chest. “I doubt that. In order to miss me, you’d have to care about me in the first place.”

“That’s not fair, Draco. You know I care about you.”

He ran a weary hand over his face. “No, you care about what you married into. The name, the Manor, the wealth, and the position it gives you in society. Let’s not try and pretend otherwise.”

Her façade dropped then. She hunted down her dressing gown, tying it around her and putting her hands on her hips. “You know, why can’t you make this easy? If you had just accepted my advances, we could have reconciled and continued to be happy.”

“Astoria, we’re completely incompatible and haven’t been happy for years. I doubt some sex would paper over the huge cracks in our marriage.”

“What do you mean, not happy? Of course, we’ve been happy.”

Draco sighed. “Really, Astoria? Are you that deluded? We barely see each other.”

“That’s because you’re busy at work and I’m busy being a good wife and socialising with your friends.”

He snorted. “A good wife? That’s laughable. And I _choose_ to be busy at work rather than come home to this… this _farce_ of a marriage.”

She huffed. “You’re impossible, that’s what you are. You’re never happy.”

“No, it’s not that I’m impossible and I could be happy—easily. But you haven’t got what it takes to make me happy.”

“No one can make you happy. You’re depressive and you suck the happiness and good out of everything,” she sniped bitterly.

Draco turned away from his wife, irritated. “You’re so self-absorbed that you can’t see past what you want.”

“ _I’m_ self-absorbed? That’s rich coming from you. At least I don’t sit in the corner and brood. I’m trying to get on with my life.”

“How about the fact that I went through things when I was a kid that no one should have to experience?”

“Oh, here we go again. You’re such a _bore_! What happened to the old Draco? The one who’d known his worth and let everyone else know it too.”

“I grew up, Astoria. Something you wouldn’t know anything about. I learnt some hard lessons and I had to change, otherwise we wouldn’t be in the position we’re in now.”

“Salazar’s rod, you’re so miserable. If you lightened up, Draco, we would be fine. But instead, it’s all doom and gloom with you. You think you’d be over your self-pitying attitude by now, but apparently not.”

“I _am_ over it but you can’t see that things are different now. The world has changed. It’s not like it was before. You can’t cling on to the old ways; it’s no longer accepted or tolerated. Too much was lost in the last war.”

“You could if you were smart about it.”

He scoffed. “You’re so naïve. We’re under scrutiny. That fact might have passed you by, but the Ministry watches us intently.”

“Pfft. You could have the Ministry eating out of your hand. Your father did.”

“And this is precisely why we can never be happy. We don’t see eye-to-eye on anything. You fail to understand anything that isn’t about power, status, or money.”

“You’re a Malfoy—you’re meant to think along those lines. What the hell is wrong with _you_?” She sneered.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. No matter how many times they went over this, Astoria seemed incapable of understanding why they couldn’t live like previous generations of Malfoys had. She failed to grasp the fact that the Malfoy family had always been good at changing their politics to stay in power. He and Lucius had made a conscious effort not to maintain their old ways. If they wanted to remain influential, then they had to graciously accept the changing situation. It hadn’t been a hard decision for them to make after everything that had happened. His mother had happily gone along with the change, making sure she was seen to support the right causes, but Astoria, brought up on the same ideals as Draco, had found it impossible. She seemed to think that if they brazened it out then they could still continue along the same lines. 

“You don’t get it, as usual, Astoria. You never will and that’s the main problem between us.”

“You’re just weak. You didn’t have what it took to be a Death Eater and you don’t have what it takes now to make your wife happy. You couldn’t even keep Parkinson, when she would have done anything for you. She recognised you for the sad little person you are and _dumped_ your pathetic arse.”

He felt the rage bubbling up inside him but it was tinged with sadness as he realised Astoria had a point. He turned back towards her with a snarl. “Get out! I don’t want to see you anymore. In fact, you can get out of the Manor and my life for good!”

She looked disdainfully at him. “You and your father both think you’re too good for me now that Mudblood Granger is pregnant with your kid.” She laughed bitterly. “Good luck going up against her, Draco. If I remember correctly, you don’t have too good a record against Potter or Granger.”

And with that she swept out of his room. 

Draco sat down wearily on his bed. A fight with Astoria was just what he needed to turn his previously decent day bad. The one thing she did understand about him was what buttons to press to cause maximum hurt. And she’d done it again with the digs about his personality and Pansy. 

Despite appearances, he really wasn’t too confident in himself. Oh, he hid it well but that’s what he’d been taught to do. Malfoys didn’t show uncertainty or hesitation. When he’d been younger, it had been easy to believe in his inherent superiority. After all, he’d always got what he wanted and had a fawning circle of friends and a father to run to if things didn’t turn out as he had expected. 

But those two years living as a Death Eater had taught him that life had a funny way of being unpredictable. His easy existence had flown out the window and he’d been left knowing that ultimately a name and wealth didn’t mean that much. It was handy, that was for sure, but when push came to shove, it couldn’t make up for character defects or a lack of conviction. 

Since his world had been turned upside down, he’d grown less sure of himself and his role. It didn’t help that his father, too, had come out of the war diminished. His dad had been the one person he could count on to show him what the Malfoy name meant and that had disappeared that night in the Department of Mysteries. Lucius had gone from being a supremely confident Death Eater to a failed lackey. And Voldemort had made sure he’d punished them both. 

Thinking of his father brought home the fact that Astoria somehow knew about Granger and the baby. This was not good news, especially as he’d just told her to get out of his life.

So much for his good day.

\--------

To say Astoria was angry was an understatement. No one turned her down—no one. To have put herself out there for Draco and be so thoroughly rejected was humiliating and not only that—he’d kicked her out! He hadn’t even spoken to his father yet, but he’d come to the same conclusion Lucius had. Well, Astoria wasn’t having that. She refused to be thrown aside and discarded when it suited the arrogant Malfoy men.

She paced her across her private living room, trying to think of what she could do to punish them. She knew it had to revolve around Granger and the child. The all-important Malfoy heir. 

Her first thought was to hunt Granger down and hex her, which would have the added bonus of endangering the baby. But, she soon discarded that idea as it was risky. Besides, everyone knew that Granger was quick with her wand and there was the real possibility that Astoria could come out worse off. Anyway, it wasn’t Granger who was the real problem—it was Draco. She needed something that would hit him where it hurt the most—his pride in his family name. She walked up and down as she wracked her brain for something. 

She came to a halt and stared out the window before something on her desk caught her eye. She looked down at it for a moment before a slow smile made its way onto her lips. Oh yes! If she played her cards right, she could drag his name through the mud, wreck his reputation, and come out spotless. This would surely be a win-win situation.


	9. Plans and Schemes

Draco spent his Sunday morning organising everything he needed for a busy week of meetings ahead. It wasn’t something he’d dreamed about doing when younger and was part of the reason he felt older than his years. But, the truth of the matter was that he’d turned to work as a panacea for the troubles in his marriage. He could forget about how maddening Astoria was and lose himself in investments, although he was now realising that this wasn’t the healthiest thing in the world. All it had done was help him pretend his problems didn’t exist. 

He frowned at the knock on his door. He hated being disturbed until he’d finished. It always threw him off and it was usually someone he didn’t want to see.

“Come in,” he snapped, continuing to speedily write across the parchment.

“Is that anyway to speak to your father?”

Draco looked up in surprise before placing his quill neatly next to his work. He’d planned on visiting his father after lunch.

“Father,” he greeted. “Please, take a seat.”

His father pulled out the chair from across his desk and sat, folding his hands around his cane. 

“We need to discuss Astoria,” Lucius said, opening the conversation.

Draco sighed as he thought of their argument the night before. “Yes, we do.”

“She knows about Granger.”

“Yes, she doe—How do you know that?”

“She came to me yesterday morning, demanding I do ‘something’ about the child. I believe she thought I could harm it in some way.”

Draco felt the anger immediately coursing through his veins. He was surprised by his paternal feelings towards the foetus, but the thought of anyone harming his child was infuriating. He’d thought that he would need time to come to terms with the reality of the circumstances, but as soon as he’d been told he was going to be a father, he’d been so happy, albeit worried, about the situation. The fact that his wife had tried to scheme behind his back to end his chance of being a father was rage-inducing. 

“She did what?! I’m going to kill her!”

“Now, Draco, you can’t let your emotions affect you. We need to try and deal with this without anger.”

“That’s easy for you to say, this isn’t your child we’re talking about.”

“No. But it is my grandchild and you know that I would’ve had more children had I been able.”

Draco sighed. His parents had tried desperately for a second child but had been unable to conceive and wizards hadn’t been aware of IVF treatment in those days. Not that his father would’ve proceeded down a Muggle path then, anyway. 

He ran a hand through his hair. “So, what did you say to her?”

“What do you think I said? I told her she had until the end of the week to get her belongings and get out of the Manor.”

Draco chuckled. It was amusing to him that his father had come to exactly the same conclusion he had.

“What’s so funny?” Lucius asked.

“It’s just I told her the same thing last night.”

“Last night?”

“Yes, I got home from my Quidditch game and she… er… tried to seduce me.”

“Seduce you?” his father asked, amused.

He couldn’t help the tint of colour that came into his cheeks. Even though he was 29, it was still embarrassing to have conversations like this with a parent. 

“Yes, she thought she could try and rekindle our marriage. Now I know why; you’d told her earlier in the day that her days were numbered.”

“She did threaten to get back at me.”

“Well, if she planned to do it through me, then she’s seven years too late. She’s lost any appeal that she once held.”

“Well, it’s good to know that you are no longer thinking with a certain part of your anatomy.”

Draco shot his father a glare to which Lucius just raised an eyebrow.

“So, what now?” he asked, deciding to leave that jab well alone.

“Now we get Horatio on the case to draw up your divorce papers,” Lucius replied.

“I guess it is too much to try and present us as a happy family now.”

“Astoria would never play along with that, unless you guaranteed she would be a permanent fixture as your wife.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen.” He scowled.

“Good. The important thing is we dissolve this marriage with little fuss or publicity. Especially as we hope to present a Malfoy child to the world in nine months. It wouldn’t do for the real story to get out, or for it to look as if you were having an affair. That would do a lot to muddy your reputation.”

He agreed with that. He’d only just got his reputation back and wasn’t ready to have it dragged through the mud once more. “How are we going to get Astoria to agree to an amicable divorce?”

“I plan on going over her head to speak to her father tonight. Either he gets his daughter to toe the line or we pull all our money out of his business. Cadmus Greengrass enjoys his luxuries. He won’t want to have to start to scrimp and save.”

Draco nodded. The one thing that had always made Lucius successful in swimming the choppy waters of politics was his innate understanding of other people’s desires and how to play off them. The only time he’d failed in this was when he’d embroiled them once more with the Dark Lord. He’d underestimated Potter and the sheer strength of conviction that the Boy-Who-Lived had. Without a doubt, if Lucius had realised the strength and depth of the Order of the Phoenix, he’d have defected long before the final battle. But, that was neither here nor there; if there was one thing his father knew, it was the pureblood mentality. 

“Do you think he’ll be able to get his daughter to toe the line?”

Lucius pondered this for a moment. “I honestly don’t know. I hope that his fear of losing any windfall from us will mean he’ll push her to behave.”

Draco’s lips compressed themselves into a tight line. Astoria was wilful when she didn’t get her own way. She reminded him of the twelve-year old version of himself: spoilt and used to getting his own way all the time. Had he not gone through the sobering reality of the war then she would’ve made him the perfect wife. They would have been the most demanding, selfish, and spoilt married couple the world had seen in a long while. 

But, times had changed, and whilst Astoria might not want to see that, Draco was all too aware that he’d needed to grow up. Responsibility had hit him hard and had turned him a little bitter. He resented the loss of the swaggering self-confidence he’d once possessed. However, this more hardened, realistic Draco was a lot more equipped to deal with his current situation.

“What if Astoria chooses to be stubborn and refuses to leave the Manor?” he asked his father.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got that covered. I’ve already briefed the house-elves to remove her, using any force necessary.”

“Let’s hope we don’t have to resort to such drastic measures.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think I’d relish the sight of Astoria being taught such a lesson after the way she spoke to me the other day,” Lucius said, clearly amused by the prospect. 

Draco couldn’t help the smirk that settled on his lips at his father’s words. Lucius certainly did have a way about him and it wasn’t for the faint-hearted. Being his daughter-in-law didn’t make you immune from his wrath if you decided to cross him.

“There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about,” Lucius said, settling back in the chair with an uneasy air.

He frowned. He hadn’t seen his father look nervous about discussing something with him… well, ever.

“I need to talk to you about why I pushed you to remain with Astoria when you first broached the idea of a divorce.”

“It was because you wanted a pureblood heir to carry on the name.”

“Yes… and no.”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, thoroughly confused now.

Lucius braced his arms on his knees and looked down at the floor. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but your mother insisted. I’m still not sure if I want to put this burden on you,” he said before stopping, clearly hesitating about whether to continue or not.

“Please, Father, if Mother wants you to tell me then it means it’s important.”

And both men knew that statement was right. Narcissa didn’t push either of them to do something unless she considered it necessary. She certainly didn’t like to interfere in their relationship for no reason.

“I know.” Lucius sighed. “I just didn’t want to do this.”

Draco sat patiently, waiting for his father to find the words. It was obvious it was something of a bombshell and he knew his father was trying to figure out how to frame this to soften whatever blow was coming.

“I’m sick,” Lucius said baldly, obviously deciding that brutal honesty was the way to proceed. “And I don’t mean a little sick. I’m effectively dying.”

His head reeled as it tried to digest that information. “What?” he asked, faintly.

“I’ve been ill for a good five years or so. The Healers at St. Mungo’s are working on it but so far, they can’t find a cure. They believe that it could be because I was present when the Dark Lord experimented with magic. This is why I pushed you to take over the business before you were ready. I didn’t want to do so, I wanted you to enjoy your youth, but I was afraid I might suddenly die and you’d be unprepared.”

Draco’s first thought was to feel vindicated that his thought processes about his father’s reasons for giving him the Malfoy business reins were correct. But then, the crushing reality of what Lucius had just explained hit him and the pain was almost unbearable. After all they had been through, to lose his dad to an unknown and seemingly untreatable illness was unthinkable. Despite what outsiders thought, the Malfoys were a close-knit family and he had never felt anything but loved by his parents. They’d showered him not only with gifts and material things but also love—unconditional love. And despite the fact that his father could appear uncaring or too demanding of him, he knew that his father was proud of him. 

“This can’t be happening,” was all he could say.

Lucius smiled a little half-smile. “Believe me, Son, I wish it wasn’t. But, the truth is I have to make preparations in case I die. It was why I pushed for you to have a child with Astoria.”

“I did wonder why you were so adamant about keeping her around.”

“I’m not stupid, Draco. I knew that if you divorced Astoria you would take your time before marrying again. But I’m not sure if we have time for that. I wanted to make sure there is an heir in place before I die.”

“Stop saying that,” he said agitatedly, running a distracted hand through his hair.

“Why? It’s the truth. I’m dying, Draco; it’s why I’ve done my best to make sure you are up to speed on everything you need to know to act as head of this house.”

He stood and paced to the window, looking outside unseeingly, before turning towards his drinks cabinet, picking out the Firewhiskey and flinging a shot down his throat. He coughed a little as the alcohol burned a path down the back of his throat. 

“Do you want one?” he asked, offering his father a glass.

“No. I try to stay away from alcohol. It can trigger attacks.”

“You had one the day I told you about Granger.”

Lucius smirked. “In those circumstances, I think I can be excused.”

Draco chuckled but the sound held no amusement. He sat back down, cradling a tumbler of Firewhiskey between his hands. “What do we do now?”

“Continue as we are. It’s unfortunate that everything with Astoria has blown up right at this moment, but maybe it will be a blessing in disguise. How are you getting on with Granger?”

“I’m meeting with her on Wednesday evening. The female Weasley talked some sense into her and she’s agreed to discuss the situation with me.”

“That’s a positive thing, right?”

“I don’t know. She’s hostile and she views this baby as solely hers. There’s no way she’ll ever give it up.”

Lucius steepled his fingers. “Maybe we have to revisit things a little. I’ve spoken to Horatio and he thinks it’s unlikely we’ll get sole custody of the child. He’s spoken to a Muggle family barrister and outlined the situation. According to the Muggle courts, Granger would most likely be given primary care. You’d be allowed visitation rights. If the Wizengamot is determined to continue to look towards the Muggles in this area, then we have to be realistic.”

Draco nodded. This wasn’t a massive surprise. He’d done a bit of his own research on the topic. “Visitation rights could work.”

His father shot him a sharp look. “Don’t get complacent, Draco. It’s not ideal by any means. No Malfoy has ever grown up outside of the Manor since William the Conqueror granted the land to us. I’m only settling for this option out of practicality. I want the child to grow up and know its heritage and what it means to be a Malfoy.”

“If it even carries Malfoy as a surname,” Draco commented bitterly.

Lucius’ head whipped up and it was obvious that he’d never thought about that. “No,” he said, slashing his hand through the air. “I demand that the child has the Malfoy surname. That is non-negotiable.”

“It’s no good adopting that tone with me! If were up to me, the child would grow up here and know nothing of Granger, but sadly, it appears she’s in command.”

“You need to emphasise how important that is, Draco. The child needs to be publicly recognised as a Malfoy.”

“Give me a chance, Dad! I’ve only just got her to agree to actually meet me, and even then, that wasn’t my doing.”

“Work hard on this. I was serious when I said you need to use your charm. You have to befriend her and get her to agree to this, at least.”

“Why do I think that will be easier said than done?”

Lucius appeared to relax a little. “No one ever said this would be easy. And Gryffindors were always stubborn,” he said with a flash of humour.

“Yeah, great,” Draco grumbled. 

His father leant forward, stuck his hand out and patted Draco’s shoulder. “I have faith in you, Draco. You can turn this situation around; you just need to believe in yourself.”

Draco couldn’t help but think that things would be a lot more complicated than that but now was not the time to burden his father any more. He’d give it a go and see where it led. After all, he’d never tried being nice to Granger before.

\---------

Hermione sat in her solicitor’s office, flanked by Harry and Ron. She had never been so pleased to have such a strong circle of friends as she had been these last couple of weeks. They had pulled out all the stops for her and instead of being judgemental, they were standing firmly behind her, regardless of whether they agreed with her initial decision or not.

It was a good thing she had these friendships to fall back on because things definitely weren’t going the way she wished they would, and she was grateful that Harry and Ron had said they would come with her to her appointment at the solicitors—despite it being first thing on a Monday morning.

“What do you mean Malfoy would most likely get visitation rights?”

“This isn’t a straight forward situation, Hermione, and you need to recognise that,” Lucy Gordon, her solicitor said placatingly.

“I know that, but surely my contract rules out any role for the biological father.”

“If the sperm belonged to a donor, yes. But Mr. Malfoy isn’t a sperm donor. He went to the De Braun Clinic to father a child. That puts his contract into play and a court will most likely decide to award you residential custody but give him contact. A child needs both a father and a mother, and the courts are keen to make sure this happens in the majority of cases.”

“The child would have a father figure. Plenty of them,” Ron said, butting into the conversation.

Lucy flashed an irritated glance his way. “I’m sure that’s the case, Mr. Weasley, but fact of the matter is that Mr. Malfoy is the child’s biological father, and he has rights too.”

Hermione’s heart sank. She’d known this deep down but it didn’t make hearing the news any less devastating. Her hopes that somehow her contract would be upheld and would invalidate Malfoy’s were receding fast.

“Is there anyway that I could use the clinic’s mistake to my advantage, especially regarding the contracts?” she asked.

Her solicitor shook her head. “The only role the clinic has now is if you decide to sue them for such a mistake.”

Hermione sighed. She’d already had this conversation with her parents, who had been outraged by such a basic medical mistake. They’d brought up the possibility of suing but she wasn’t hugely interested. She didn’t need the money and certainly did not need the stress of dragging another case through the courts. The first one with Malfoy was bound to be humiliating enough. 

“If you do want to go down that route, I can put you in touch with a good litigation solicitor. I’m not a specialist in that area of the law,” Lucy offered.

She shook her head. “Thanks, but it’s not something that interests me at the moment.”

“It’s probably best to concentrate your energies on fighting one legal battle at a time,” her solicitor advised.

“So, do you think it best if I offer visitation rights to Malfoy and hope for an out-of-court settlement?” Hermione asked.

“Look, it’s early days yet. I don’t want to push you into making a decision about this right now. We haven’t even booked a court day yet or heard from Mr. Malfoy’s legal representation. But I don’t want to give you unrealistic legal advice, which is why I want you to be prepared for the fact that Mr. Malfoy might well play a role in your child’s life.”

“Is there anyway that he could get sole custody from me? He does present a more unified family life.”

Both Harry and Ron moved in closed to Hermione, closing ranks at the mere suggestion of such a thing happening. She was touched. It made her feel a lot more supported, like she could face anything once more. Her two best friends were good at making her feel invincible in the face of overwhelming odds.

“Again, it’s too early to know. Is he going to put in a claim for sole custody?” Lucy asked.

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t know, but I feel as if I want to be prepared for all potential outcomes. I can’t imagine Malfoy wanting me to play a role unless necessary. We don’t have the best history.”

“Well, all I can say is that if you are unlikely to get sole custody then he is even more unlikely, regardless of his family background.”

“Can he bribe the courts?” Harry asked.

Lucy shook her head. “No, and this is the big reason why the Wizangamot has deliberately looked towards the Muggle courts. We want to stamp out any corruption or bribery in legal cases. It’s why there are now professionals taking on cases rather than just anyone being able to represent in court. Something you would know all about, Mr. Potter.”

Harry nodded and Hermione thought back to the ridiculous ‘trial’ he’d had to face before their fifth year at Hogwarts began. She felt much more secure knowing that the system was a lot more professional than it had been back then, when Fudge had played prosecution, judge, and jury. Even Professor Dumbledore shouldn’t have been allowed to defend Harry. She was happy that nothing like that could happen now, even more so considering Lucius Malfoy’s track record with the Wizangamot.

\----------------

Fifteen minutes later, they had finished up their appointment and were heading for some much needed sustenance.

“Bloody hell, I can’t believe this poor kid is going to actually have Malfoy play a role in its life,” Ron said, after they settled in a nearby café.

“Don’t, Ron,” Hermione said with a groan.

“How are you feeling about it?” Harry asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I wish I was surprised but I’ve read too much regarding family law recently to be shocked by what Lucy has said. It makes me more reconciled to the meeting that Ginny pretty much forced on me.”

“What meeting?” Ron asked, his mouth full of sausage.

“I’ve agreed to meet Malfoy on Wednesday evening.”

“What? Why?” the redhead asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Because, as your sister pointed out, I’ve got to try and be an adult about this. I might not want him to play a role, but as you saw just now, I might not have much choice about it.”

“This whole situation is rubbish,” Ron said.

“Tell me about it. Try dealing with it when your body is raging out of control and your hormones keep making you cry.”

Both boys grimaced. They’d seen Hermione cry more in the last few weeks than at any point in their entire friendship with her. 

“Maybe you should cry when you meet Malfoy. He’d probably run a mile,” Ron said with a smile.

Hermione giggled a little at that. Ron might not be the most percipient person but he always did a good job at cheering her up. She needed that right now. This whole pregnancy was falling around her.

“Do you want us to come with you?” Harry asked.

She smiled at him but shook her head. “No, I think it’s best if we meet alone. Besides, it would look really silly if I came with back-up. I want us to try to deal with this maturely and that’s not the best way to set the tone.”

“We’re happy to be in the vicinity if it would make you feel more secure.”

“I doubt he’d do anything to me. I think if he wanted to do that, he would’ve moved by now.”

“I know, and I agree, especially after my conversation with him. But I meant emotional support for you,” Harry said.

“No, I should be fine.”

“Have you thought more about putting in a complaint about Bulstrode?” he asked.

Hermione had thought about it. She was outraged that the former Slytherin witch would abuse her position of power in such a manner. It wasn’t acceptable to breach the trust of your patients. After getting back to work after her previous appointment, she’d been fuming and so close to writing an angry letter of complaint to the Head of Maternity Magic at St. Mungo’s as well as changing to a different hospital. But her rage had cooled and she’d thought of the potential benefits if she used her information over Bulstrode carefully.

“To be honest, I think I’m going to leave it.”

“What?!” Ron said, spluttering. “She completely abused her position. You could have her sacked for that. You _should_ have her sacked.”

“I could, but I could also use this to my own advantage. Oh, I don’t plan on letting her get away with it. I know that she loves her job—I’ve asked around. And I will confront her about it. This action proved that she’s close to Malfoy and as he’s not exactly being very forthcoming with personal information at the moment, I thought I’d use Bulstrode to fill me in.”

Harry whistled whilst Ron looked at her in shock and admiration. 

“Blimey, Hermione, are you sure you shouldn’t have been in Slytherin?” Ron asked.

She smiled cheekily. “Possibly—if they didn’t hate Muggle-borns so much.”

“Well, you certainly display the right amount of cunning to pull it off. First that stunt with Rita Skeeter in our fourth year and now this,” Harry said.

“Both women have it coming. Although to be fair to Bulstrode, she’s not exactly in the same league as Skeeter. That woman is both foul and evil.”

“If you do want us to arrest Bulstrode, let me know. What she did is illegal, I’m sure,” Harry offered.

She grabbed both Harry and Ron’s hands, squeezing them. “You are the best friends a girl could ask for.”

“Just don’t start crying again. Please, Hermione,” Ron said, a mock-scared look on his face.

She threw a crust of bread at him.

\-----------

Across the city, at the same time as Hermione was giggling over breakfast with her best friends, a beautiful brunette was making her way down Diagon Alley towards a tall, shiny building that had been built a few years ago.

As she walked into the immaculate lobby, she smoothed her hands down the side of her pristine robes, knowing that she looked her best. Her make-up was perfect and not a hair was out of place. She presented a cool and efficient façade, precisely the look she’d been going for. Her heels clacked against the marble of the floor as she made her way over to reception desk.

The receptionist behind look suitably impressed when she stopped, facing her. 

“How can I help you, ma’am?” the receptionist asked.

Astoria frowned for a brief moment. She’d rather be called ‘miss’ as she was only twenty-seven. Then again, she didn’t want to appear young or gullible. The person she was here to see would eat her alive if that was the case.

“Could you please tell Rita Skeeter that she has a visitor?”

“If you could please take a seat over there in the waiting area, I’ll let her know that you’re here, Mrs—?”

“She’s expecting me,” Astoria said, not willing to give the receptionist the pleasure of having her curiosity assuaged. She also knew the importance of keeping this visit as quiet as possible. The less people heard of it, the better.

The receptionist nodded, cowed by her assured air into not demanding a name, and Astoria made her way over the plush sofas that made up the rest of the reception area. She sank gracefully into the sofa facing the desk and languidly picked up the latest copy of _Witch Weekly_.


	10. New Beginnings

Rita Skeeter smiled as she ushered her guest into the meeting room she’d prepared for that morning. If she had gauged the personality of Astoria Malfoy correctly, then the younger witch would want to feel important. Tea, coffee, and a selection of small, dainty pastries were already laid out on the table to complete the façade of V.I.P. treatment. 

As they settled, Rita mused about what Astoria could possibly want to see her about. The owl that she’d sent had been irritatingly vague, but she had stated that she had some news about her husband that Rita would be very interested in. Rita hadn’t been in the newspaper profession for over thirty years for no reason. She specialised in getting scoops, and this could prove to be one of her biggest yet. The Malfoys were notoriously reclusive. It was nigh on impossible to get personal information about them that hadn’t already been vetted. They were slippery. They had to be to have kept Lucius out of Azkaban not once, but twice. 

“So, Astoria–May I call you Astoria?”

“Yes, please do. Mrs. Malfoy always makes me feel so old,” the brunette replied with a simper.

“Great! So, Astoria, what was it you wanted to talk about?”

She watched as the younger witch composed herself, folded her right leg over her left and delicately put her hands on her knees. 

“I have something distressing to share regarding my husband, Draco Malfoy. But I will do this on one condition: I remain as an anonymous source.”

Rita was intrigued. It was unheard of for a Malfoy to break ranks and discuss other family members with the press and she was prepared to agree to almost anything to get this story.

“Of course, Astoria. There is no need to name you in any article we publish.”

“Oh, I hope this will be a series of articles, and I think you’ll share my vision once you hear what I have to say.”

She leaned forward and pulled a notepad and Quick Quill from her bag. “You don’t mind if I take notes, do you?” she asked.

“I think it would be best if you did, Rita.”

“So, your husband, Draco. What’s he been up to?”

“Well, let’s just say there is a situation with a certain Hermione Granger,” Astoria said tantalisingly.

Rita sat up, more than interested now. To say that she detested Hermione Granger was an understatement. That disgusting little swot had destroyed her career and it had taken Rita years to pick up the pieces. But, she had never been reemployed by _The Daily Prophet_. Instead, she’d had to settle for working for _Witch Weekly_ , which was nothing more than a glorified gossip magazine with none of the kudos or prestige that came with working for the UK’s premier wizard newspaper. It didn’t pay nearly as well, either. 

At least she no longer had the blackmail hanging over her. There was no point remaining as an unregistered Animagus if Granger was around to stop you using it properly.

“Please continue, Astoria. As you can see I’m all ears.”

\-------------

Wednesday evening came all too quickly for Hermione’s peace of mind. She’d endured a pep talk from Ginny over lunch earlier that day on being calm and not letting her hormones dictate her reactions.

“I don’t see why you are so determined we should try to get along?” Hermione had asked her redhead friend.

“Because Harry told me what had happened at your solicitor’s meeting, and there is every chance that the pair of you are going to have to cooperate over the care of the child you share,” Ginny had replied.

She’d sighed. She might have had a few days to digest and dissect the depressing news from Lucy, but it hadn’t meant that she was reconciled just yet to having to potentially deal with Malfoy for the rest of her life. 

“I know, and you’re right, but it doesn’t make any of this any easier.”

Ginny had patted her hand. “Of course it doesn’t, honey. But, take it from me: fathers are important in the lives of children, too. And I know you didn’t plan on having a father in your child’s life, which would have been fine if this had turned out the way you planned. But it didn’t, Hermione, and if he wants to play a role in this child’s life, then you have to give him the opportunity to. It’s not fair on your baby if you don’t.”

Ginny was right; Hermione knew this. But she struggled to get past the point of it actually being Malfoy. Of this child being half his. 

She was still unconvinced that Malfoy even wanted to be a good father. So far, all she’d heard from him was stuff about this baby being the Malfoy heir. In her eyes, that wasn’t important. Besides, look how that kind of thinking had messed Draco up. He’d hardly been a balanced, well brought up and socially adjusted boy at school. He’d been a hideous snob who’d bullied others. And she would not settle for any child of hers thinking that she was entitled to anything just because of its surname.

Which got her thinking about surnames. Godric, there was another sticky topic for them to deal with. She doubted the Malfoys would settle for any child of theirs having a different surname, but Hermione certainly wanted little Iris to be called Granger. Were they going to have to burden the child with one of those cumbersome double-barrelled names? Granger-Malfoy or Malfoy-Granger. 

She furrowed her brow. This was just getting ridiculously complicated, and she hadn’t even reached the twelve-week milestone yet. 

She cleared her thoughts as she neared the café. It wouldn’t do any good to turn up looking and feeling frazzled. She had to remain levelheaded during this whole conversation otherwise she might just be tempted to chuck some boiling water over the annoying former-Slytherin.

Hermione was pleasantly surprised to see that Malfoy was already at the café. At least it showed he was taking this seriously. She wouldn’t have put it past him to arrive late just to show her that he could keep her waiting around for him.

She walked over to the back table he’d claimed, pleased that it would offer some privacy as the area wasn’t busy. When she got to the table, he stood and she was surprised by his old fashioned courtesy, having neither expected nor experienced it before—at least, not from Malfoy. She pulled her chair out and sat, watching him as he followed suit.

“Sorry, I didn’t order for you as I wasn’t sure what you would want,” he said, gesturing to his cup. 

Her eyebrows rose. He really was on his best behaviour. Maybe this could work if they continued to treat each other with this level of respect.

“It’s okay, I’ll go up and get something,” she replied.

“No, stay there,” he said before waving an arm in the air and calling the waiter over.

Hermione saw it was the same teenager who’d served them the last time. He was less surprised by Malfoy’s actions this time and came over with only a little reluctance. 

“Yes, sir?” he asked.

“My friend would like to order,” Malfoy replied.

She shot the poor boy an apologetic look before giving him her order. She then turned her reproachful eyes towards Malfoy.

“Stop looking at me as if he’s a house-elf. He gets paid to work here.”

“Yes, but this isn’t a table service café.”

“You told me this last time. I gave him a large tip. That more than makes up for his trouble.”

She sighed. There was no point in going down this route again. They were always going to have a difference of opinion when it came to treating those who worked in such employment. 

They sat in an awkward silence as they waited for her drink to arrive and she could feel her nerves increasing. She wished she could think of something to say to break the tense silence but she couldn’t. It hit her then that she really didn’t know Malfoy at all. She didn’t know his interests or likes and only really had preconceptions that she’d gained by his awful behaviour at school. 

Once her drink arrived, she leaned back in her chair and blew on the hot tea to cool it down. She lifted her eyes and saw that Malfoy was watching her. It was a little disconcerting.

“So,” she said, in a desperate need to break the silence.

“How are you feeling?”

She smiled. The conversation was going down the same route it previously had. Although, this time she was determined to try to remain civil and not badger Malfoy so he would leave in a huff.

“I’m good.”

“And the morning sickness? Has that gone?”

“No, it doesn’t tend to recede until the beginning of the second trimester.”

“Oh!” 

The tension and silence returned. 

She took a deep breath. It was no good them pussy footing around this. They needed to talk properly about their options and what they were going to do. For her own peace of mind, she needed to know what exactly he intended. 

“Okay, I’m just going to come out and say this. We don’t really know each other, I have no idea what is going on in your life and I’m sure that applies vice versa. But, we’re going to have to cooperate somewhat for the sake of this child. I’ve spoken to my solicitor and I know it’s unlikely that my contract with the clinic is going to be upheld in light of your desire to play a part in this child’s life.”

Hermione watched as the rigid line of Malfoy’s shoulders relaxed a little and the unease went out of his face. She hadn’t even been aware that it had been there but now, as he relaxed, she could see that he’d been just as tense and uncomfortable as she was.

“You’re not going to fight my rights to be in this child’s life.”

She hesitated, unsure for a moment whether she wanted to burn this bridge down. She was decisive and once she made her mind up, she tended to stick with it. So, if she told him that she would allow him access then she would stick to her word. There would be no going back: it wasn’t in her nature.

“No, I won’t fight it.”

He looked at her a little suspiciously, as if he was weighing up her words and whether she could be trusted or not.

“What’s brought on this change of heart?”

“I doubt I would ever have denied you a role in this child’s life. I was shocked and then a little scared, which caused me to go on the defensive. But, I know that having both parents in your life can make a big difference and I wouldn’t want to deny my child that opportunity.”

“And you’re not going to change your mind?”

She didn’t blame him for wanting to make sure. She’d be the same if she were in his shoes. “No, I give you my word on this.”

Malfoy nodded, knowing not to question that. He obviously knew enough about her to know that she was honourable. 

“Okay. Well, that should make this a lot easier.”

“Are you going to fight for primary custody?” she asked nervously, aware that she’d given him assurances when she had none herself. She could feel the nerves clenching her stomach. His answer could mean either catastrophe or an easier road ahead.

He looked her directly in the eye, his expression serious. “I had planned to do that, especially because you were being so difficult about this. But, like you, I’ve been speaking to my legal representation and it’s unlikely that the court would rule in my favour.”

She wrapped her shaky hands around her cup of camomile tea, relief flooding her body. 

“Where does that leave us?” she asked.

He smiled faintly. “I’m not sure. I’m still reeling from the fact that I’m not having to fight you over everything.”

Hermione looked down at the table. She was feeling the emotional upheaval of the last month or so but she couldn’t help feeling more optimistic about how this could turn out. They needed to try and keep communicating with each other, being honest about what they wanted. If they managed to do that, then this could turn out not to be the big disaster she’d built up in her mind.

“But, I would like to ask you for one thing, Granger.”

She turned her eyes back to him. “What’s that?”

“I want to be a part of this pregnancy. I’d like to attend appointments with you.”

She grimaced. She hadn’t really planned on that. The appointments felt personal: it was where she discussed her body and the impact of the pregnancy upon it. “I don’t know.”

He tensed up immediately, suspicion flashing across his face. She held her hands out. “It’s not what you think. I’m not looking to deliberately keep you out, but the appointments are intimate and it would feel awkward with you there.”

“How about the scans? I’d really like to present at the scans.”

She nodded. That was fair. If she was prepared to allow him to be part of her baby’s life, then it was only fair he got to see the scans. “Okay, that would be fine.”

He seemed to fully relax then, losing that Malfoy control and slumping back into his chair into a much more natural position than the rigid, back straight position he’d maintained since she’d arrived.

“Don’t think I’m impressed or happy with how my trust was abused by you and Bulstrode,” she mentioned, determined that he would know how out of order that had been. She was pleased to note that he could look guilty.

“I didn’t know how else to get you to sit still and talk to me.”

“You could’ve just asked.”

He scoffed. “You wouldn’t have agreed to that.”

“I would’ve.”

He gave her a disbelieving look. “You’re only here today because Weasley forced you to come.”

It was her turn to feel a little guilty. He probably was right. Ginny had been the one to make her come today, and if that hadn’t happened she might well have continued to refuse to sit down with him to discuss this. She had been a little childish in her reactions since finding out he was the father, but in her defence, it had been a massive shock, and he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about his intentions, or even his personal life. 

“Still, that’s not the point. Bulstrode is my midwife and she crossed a massive boundary in aiding and abetting you. I could have her sacked.”

Malfoy looked at her for a moment. “You’d do that?”

“Tell me why I shouldn’t?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“She loves her job and she did this for me.”

“So?”

He shrugged, almost as if recognising the weakness of his argument. “You’ve broken rules for your friends before.”

Hermione laughed. “That’s what you’re going to come up with? I expected better from you, Malfoy. Yes, I broke some rules when helping Harry defeat an incredibly powerful dark wizard who wanted to eradicate all those who didn’t fit his plan. What Bulstrode did is hardly in the same category and was a lot worse. There are medical oaths against what she did.”

She watched as he ran a distracted hand through his hair. “You’re right, and I don’t blame you if you report her but please, Granger, give her another chance. I promise that I won’t use my position as a close friend to gain information again. She really is a fantastic midwife and I did have to beg and plead to get her to help me.”

“Don’t think I won’t mention this to her.”

“I fully expect you to.”

“Good,” she said pointedly, looking away from him and taking another sip of her rapidly cooling tea. 

Another silence fell between them but at least this was less agonising that the previous ones. It also gave Hermione a chance to think. She hadn’t expected this meeting to go as well as it had, and she was pleased that they had managed to agree on so much. But she was still in the dark when it came to his personal circumstances and why he wanted to be in this child’s life so much. She knew from the clinic that they had offered Malfoy free treatment with Astoria until they conceived. They’d offered her a similar deal if she gave the baby up to Malfoy. This was the perfect opportunity to question him about it.

“What about Astoria? How does she feel about this?” she asked.

His head whipped up from where he’d been contemplating his coffee. “What’s she got to do with anything?”

“She’s your wife. She has everything to do with this.”

“Her role is none of your business.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “She will have contact with my child, which makes her my business. If she was expecting to get pregnant, will she be happy helping raise another woman’s child?”

“There’s no conflict. Everything is fine,” he said unhelpfully.

She frowned. Why did it feel as if he was hiding something from her? If everything was truly fine, then why was he so unwilling to open up and say anything?

“Why should I believe you? It sounds as if things aren’t fine, to be honest.”

“My relationship with my wife has nothing to do with you. It has no relevance to your life or our child,” he snapped.

“I beg to differ,” she said, becoming more suspicious by the moment.

“Leave it, Granger. If I wanted to discuss this with you, I would. Now, if that’s everything, I have places to be.”

He stood as he completed that sentence, and she glared at him. What was it with Malfoy and running away as soon as the conversation turned towards him? 

“Let me know when the scan is. My mother tells me it’s around twelve weeks. Is that correct?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’ll send you an owl with the date, time, and place.”

He acknowledged that curtly before spinning on his heel and leaving the café. Hermione was left wondering how the meeting had gone from cordial agreement to him puckering up and refusing to answer her questions. Something wasn’t quite right with Malfoy’s marriage, and she was determined to know what it was, especially as it could affect her child. She would not allow any baby of hers be pulled into an unhappy household. 

She checked her magical planner and tapped her finger thoughtfully against Friday’s entry: she was due to see Bulstrode in the morning. Keeping the Slytherin witch as her midwife might just pay off if she could pump her for information.

\-----------

Astoria smiled as she packed her final suitcase. It was Thursday, four days after her meeting with Rita Skeeter and a day before the deadline issued by Lucius for her removal from the Manor. She didn’t doubt the Malfoy patriarch would remove her physically if she hadn’t left by then. But she had no plans to stay around. She had laid her plans and she was looking forward to the fallout. If Draco thought he could get rid of her without any fuss, then he was in for a surprise.

She summoned one of the Greengrass house-elves and ordered it to take her case back to The Lodge. She pursed her lips as she gave a final look to the room that had housed her for the last seven years. She wasn’t the sentimental type, but she recognised that this was the end of her ambitions to become a leader of pureblood circles. As a Greengrass, she didn’t hold the prestige needed to rule without a powerful marriage. It was highly doubtful that any of the other elite pureblood males would be interested in marrying her once her project with Skeeter was revealed. She felt a pang of emotion as her previous dreams came to nought. 

But then again, she wasn’t one who was happy to abide by others’ rules. If she had been, then she would have kow-towed to the Malfoy demands to be their perfect little wife. No, her desires had changed. She was going to make a splash in the world in a different way. Carve a unique niche that would be wholly hers. She was looking forward to causing ripples through the staid world of wizards. 

Astoria closed the door behind her firmly and clacked her way down the corridor, main staircase, and towards the travelling room. She wasn’t going to bother saying goodbye to her former parents-in-law. They no longer held any power over her and could no longer make their disapproval of her known.

She had also chosen to leave before the story broke. It was due to be published on Sunday, thus giving her the chance to vacate Malfoy Manor and allowed her to sign the divorce settlement and secure her family’s financial future. She smiled smugly as she thought of the ironclad divorce. It was a typical Lucius contract. He’d been determined that she would leave with minimal fuss and had offered her father all manner of inducements in order for that to work. What Lucius had never come to realise was that Astoria was a law unto herself. Her father held no sway over her actions. She fell in line if she wished. And this time, she’d been more than happy to appear as the dutiful daughter. She had no desire to scrabble around for money and so had been happy to agree to the divorce with its generous alimony made to her and her father. 

“Where are you going?” Draco asked, breaking into her thoughts.

She looked up and saw her stressed ex-husband exiting the room she was about to enter. “I’m leaving. Where do you think I’m going?”

“You’re leaving?”

She gave him an amused look. “Why, yes, Draco darling. After all, I am no longer your wife.”

“You signed the agreement?”

She smiled sweetly at him. “Of course. Your father was so adamant that I do so before leaving. He even went to my father and put pressure on him to ensure I acquiesced.”

Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her. “And that’s it? No fuss, no tantrums, no refusal to leave?”

She flicked an imaginary bit of lint off her sleeve. “Surprisingly enough, I recognise when something’s over, and this marriage is completely finished.”

“And you’re going to leave with no problems?”

“Naturally! What did you expect?”

He frowned, almost as if he couldn’t comprehend her actions. She always enjoyed wrong-footing people and right now, her ex-husband was proving so very entertaining with his suspicions.

“As fun as this has been, Draco, my family are expecting me. I wish you all the best with Granger. I’m sure you’ll need it.” _Good luck dealing with the media, too_ , she tacked on mentally. 

With a brief pat on his cheek as she passed him, she entered the travelling room. She moved gracefully across the room to the fireplace, threw the Floo powder into the grate, and disappeared into the emerald flames.

Draco watched as his ex-wife disappeared out of his life. Something wasn’t quite right. He could feel it. Everything had to be on Astoria’s terms, it was something that you could guarantee with the witch. But this had been too easy. 

He sighed. Between her and Granger, he was feeling pushed and pulled and altogether hunted. Instead of feeling relieved that he’d finally… _finally_ gotten rid of the woman who’d managed to make him so unhappy for the past years, he felt uneasy, almost as if something big was coming that would turn everything upside down. 

He ran a weary hand over his face. When had his life become so complicated? All he wanted was to be happy. Maybe his family’s past sins meant that was impossible. Maybe he was fated to always be moving from one disaster to another. He huffed a bitter laugh as he thought of how cocky he’d been as a child. If only he could go back to those days where everything had been so certain.


	11. The Calm

First thing Friday morning, Draco made his way to the library where he knew he’d find his father going over the catalogue. For as long as he could remember, Lucius spent his Friday mornings organising and reviewing the vast Malfoy library. His father prided himself on how extensive the family collection was. Lucius would then spend the afternoons perusing the bookshops in Diagon Alley, looking for anything to add to the library. The familiarity of the routine reassured Draco somewhat after the upheaval of the last few months. It was good to know that some things never changed.

“Father?” he called.

“Here,” came the reply and he headed towards the back, finding Lucius in the Transfiguration section.

“Draco, what can I do for you?”

“Astoria left yesterday.”

“Yes, I know. The house-elves informed me. I’ve adjusted the wards accordingly and she can’t return without seeking entry.”

Draco nodded a little absently at that. The uneasy feeling in his stomach hadn’t dissipated over-night. In fact, if anything, it had grown. It didn’t help that his dreams had all featured a vengeful Astoria, managing to make his life hell. 

Lucius stopped what he was doing and Draco felt his eyes boring into him. “What’s wrong, Son? Shouldn’t you be happy that you’ve finally gotten rid of her?”

“Well… yes, I am, but there’s something I just can’t put my finger on.”

“What do you mean?”

“She was too happy to be going. I know her ambitions too well to settle for the idea that she knows when she’s been beaten. She’s fooled me once before and I can’t help but think that’s she’s done it again.”

His father threw back his head and laughed. “Draco, you’re too suspicious for your own good. I’m not going to say that you don’t have reason to be with your past, but this time you’ve nothing to be worried about.”

“It was too easy, Dad.”

“That’s because we made sure she had no room to manoeuvre. I threatened Cadmus with what would happen if Astoria didn’t go through with the divorce quickly and quietly. As predicted, he had no desire to lose his position in society.”

“But, you see, I don’t buy that. Cadmus has tried to get Astoria to do things in the past and she’s flat out refused.”

“Come on, Draco, she’s a smart girl and she knows when she’s been beaten.”

“That’s the thing. She _is_ intelligent and she uses it ruthlessly to get what she wants.”

“Are you seriously suggesting that a silly little chit of a girl managed to play me at my own game and won?”

Draco pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and pondered this. “I just have a feeling about it.”

His father clapped him on the shoulder and gave him an amused look. “I think your mother’s right. You need to get out and have more fun. You’re starting to let pessimism rule your life.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Draco replied, muttering.

“What are you doing today?” 

“I’ve got a series of meetings set up from eleven o’clock this morning, culminating with an appointment with Horatio at six this evening.”

“You work too hard. Cancel the meetings, go out, and see Pansy and Adrian. I bet they’ll be pleased to know that Astoria is history.”

“I can’t. I’ve had these arranged for ages and you know what the Minister’s like. He gets so tetchy if anything is cancelled on him.”

Lucius nodded. “That’s true. It will make matters worse if it’s a Malfoy doing so. Sometimes, I think he only agrees to meet with us because of the huge donations we made to his campaign.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. Some areas of society remained suspicious of their intentions still, especially those who’d been in the Order. No matter how hard he and his father tried to show how they’d changed, the mutterings about their intentions remained. The Minister was no exception to this, despite gratefully accepting their financial support during his election campaign. Perhaps it was because Sturgis Podmore had never quite gotten over the fact that he was Imperiused by Death Eaters and was used to try to break into the Department of Mysteries. 

“What are you meeting Horatio about?” his father asked.

“About the meeting with Granger on Wednesday.”

Lucius’ head shot up. “Ah, yes. We only got to discuss that briefly with all the hoopla around Astoria. She agreed to let you have contact with the child?”

“Yes. We managed to remain civil towards each other. It was quite a turn-up. Well, until she decided to pry into my personal affairs with Astoria,” Draco replied, remembering the nosy questions with a frown.

His father barked a laugh. “I bet that went well.”

“It’s Granger; she’s never happy until she knows everything.”

“Why didn’t you just tell her that you were getting divorced?”

“Because I’ll tell her when I’m ready. I refused to be pushed about by her. And secondly, I wanted to run through the new situation with Horatio first.”

“That makes sense. Just don’t leave it too late to tell her. If she’s going to trust you, then you don’t want her to hear something this big from someone else.”

“Okay. Anyway, I better get to work.”

Lucius gripped his shoulder briefly. “Try not to worry too much, Draco. Life’s too short for the amount of worrying you’re doing at the moment.”

He felt a pang of sadness shoot through him at his father’s words. Lucius was right. Life _was_ too short. Look at his father: they were just getting the family back on track and Lucius was seriously ill with no cure currently in sight. The crushing feeling that swept through his body at the thought of his father no longer being there was overwhelming.

\------------

Hermione sat in the waiting room at St. Mungo’s Midwifery Unit and mentally went through the list of questions she’d prepared for Bulstrode. If Malfoy was going to continue to be so unhelpful regarding his private life, then she was not going to feel guilty at using unscrupulous methods against him to find out through other means. Besides, he’d started this first.

Of course, saying that didn’t mean the guilty feelings abated. She couldn’t help it. She was moral and upright, unlike Malfoy who was sneaky and underhand. And she wasn’t happy at having to be so cunning just to get some simple information about his private life which she was entitled to, considering they shared a child.

She waited for the receptionist to call her through. It was the same receptionist who’d been there for her first appointment, and she was eying Hermione with interest. The depressed manner in which Hermione had left after her previous appointment hadn’t gone unnoticed and neither had her current grim expression. She sighed. People-watching was probably the best thing about the receptionist’s job, so she shouldn’t judge. The scrutiny didn’t help when she was feeling so anxious about it all.

Once more, Hermione was told to go to Room 4, which she did, briefly knocking before turning the handle and marching in. 

“Ms. Granger, how are you feeling?” a very professional Bulstrode asked.

Hermione plonked herself onto a seat and gave the other witch a stern look. “Don’t give me that professional manner. I know what you did.”

The midwife look confused at her statement and combative tone. “I’m sorry, Granger, but I really don’t know what you mean.”

“Malfoy confessed, so it’s no good playing dumb. I’ll give you one chance to persuade me not to report you to your senior.”

Hermione was slightly mollified when Bulstrode turned a pasty white and looked as if she was about to keel over and be sick. She put a shaking hand out towards Hermione.

“Please, I wouldn’t normally do something like that…”

“So I should bloody well hope! You abused our medical relationship to give your friend a chance to stalk me. That’s outrageous, Bulstrode, and you’re lucky I haven’t had you sacked already.”

“I can organise for you to see another midwife. I completely understand if you don’t trust me to oversee your care.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, no, you don’t! You’re not getting off that easy. You owe me, and I plan on making sure you give me the information I want.”

The former Slytherin looked taken aback and she eyed Hermione warily. “What do you want?”

“I want you to reciprocate your deal with Malfoy.”

Bulstrode frowned. “I don’t have access to Draco’s daily movements and I also don’t have a tracking Galleon.”

“A tracking Galleon?” Hermione asked, getting side-tracked.

“You didn’t know about that?”

“Obviously. Fill me in, then.”

“Draco has designed these Galleons that can track whoever carries them. He’ll plant them on business contacts in places that they won’t usually find for ages so they don’t spend them. He then ‘bumps’ into them and often gets a friendly informal meeting in, which gives him an edge over his rivals.”

“That sneaky snake,” Hermione said almost admiringly. “You planted one in my pregnancy pack, didn’t you?”

Bulstrode at least had the grace to blush before nodding and looking shame-faced down at Hermione’s file, open on her desk. 

“Hmm… Well, that doesn’t particularly make your offence any worse,” Hermione said, taking in the hopeful expression on the midwife’s face. “Neither does it make it any better. If you want to keep your job, then I suggest you answer the questions I’m about to ask you and not worry about any loyalty you may have towards Malfoy.”

The midwife gulped audibly. “What do you want to know?”

“Malfoy and Astoria. What’s the deal?”

“Oh, Granger, I really don’t think it’s my place to say anything.”

“But it was your place to plant magical GPS devices on me and inform your friend of my appointment?”

The other witch blushed once more, looking guilty before she settled on confused as she digested Hermione’s words. “GPS? What’s that?”

“A Muggle thing; don’t worry about that right now. Are you going to answer my question or not?”

Hermione was pleased when Bulstrode’s Slytherin self-preservation trait kicked in and overruled any loyalty she had towards Malfoy. 

“They’re having major problems in their marriage. Draco’s not been happy for years but he’s kept it all bottled up. He only just recently told Pansy and I about how unhappy he is,” Bulstrode rattled off quietly and quickly.

Hermione took a moment to analyse this. Malfoy’s tetchiness began to make sense. No wonder he was so unwilling to share any of this with her. He’d want to keep it quiet in case their current agreement fell apart in court and he pushed for custody. She wasn’t stupid. She knew that Malfoy would promote the whole ‘happy family’ aspect of his arrangement to try to show that he could raise a child better than a single mother. 

“If they’re that unhappy, then why are they trying for a kid? And going to the trouble of artificial insemination?”

Bulstrode shot her an unimpressed glance. “I believe you’ve met Lucius on several occasions and are probably aware of the importance of the Malfoy name to him in general.”

Things were beginning to click into place. She’d been confused by the reticence Malfoy had displayed to open up about the most simple things but if he was being pressured by his father to continue the Malfoy name despite an unhappy marriage, then it was starting to make sense. But it also made Hermione more determined that any child of hers would not be brought up in such a situation. It would be untenable that she would condone such a thing happening. It also highlighted that Lucius appeared to be in control.

“What’s the deal with Lucius?” she asked.

Bulstrode frowned, confused by the question. “What do you mean?”

“Why has Lucius accepted the idea of a half-blood baby?”

“From what Draco has said, he’s desperate for an heir.”

Hermione thought that over. Something didn’t ring true in that reply. Not that she thought Bulstrode was lying: the other witch was obviously petrified that Hermione would report her and she’d lose her job. But there was no way Lucius would accept the tainting of his precious pureblood lines without a good reason. 

“Any particular reason for this?”

Bulstrode just shrugged and looked back down at Hermione’s file. The tense expression on her face clearly showed how unhappy she was with this whole conversation. Maybe it would serve as a warning not to blur the boundaries of work and friends again. Not that the midwife had blurred the boundaries. She’d pretty much jumped over the line and sprinted off in the distance. And the consequence of that was feeding Hermione the information she needed about Malfoy’s private life.

“Okay, I recognise that you might not know Lucius’ personal reasons for accepting a half-blood baby, and you’ve given me enough information.”

The former Slytherin witch blew out a massive breath of air and looked relieved that she was not going to be asked to reveal any more intimate details about the Malfoys. “And you’re happy for me to continue to be your midwife?”

Hermione considered this for a moment. Was she able to trust Bulstrode with her pre-natal care? She assessed the midwife carefully, who was doing her utmost not to look self-conscious at the scrutiny. “Believe it or not, I think I am. You’ve shown a disturbing lack of professionalism, but the bonds of loyalty towards friends I can understand. And, I seriously doubt you’ll be doing something like that in a hurry because I really won’t give you a second chance. I’ll make sure you are sacked.”

Bulstrode nodded curtly. “No, I think it’s fair to say that I will be staying out of this affair for my own sanity. Although, I will have to tell Draco we had this conversation.”

“I didn’t expect you not to,” Hermione said a little grimly. 

How Malfoy would react to that, she wasn’t sure. He’d be furious that she’d managed to get some of the much-needed information about his private life. Well, he’d started using the unscrupulous methods so he couldn’t really complain if she followed suit.

“Okay, well, getting back to the business of why you’re here, have you received a date for your twelve-week scan yet?”

Hermione shook her head. “Should I have done?”

Bulstrode pursed her lips. “Yes, I’ll chase it up and find out what the delay is. I have it written down here in your file so I can at least tell you the time and date. It’s in two weeks’ time, Friday 4th June-,” she said before tailing off.

“What?” Hermione asked.

“Are you going to let Draco attend?”

“What’s that got to do with you? Didn’t you just say that you’d remain purely professional?”

“Well, yes… but did you know that it’s Draco’s birthday the day after the scan?”

She stopped. She knew Malfoy was younger than her and that his birthday was close to Harry’s, but she’d never known the exact date. Why would she? The only thing she knew was that it was after 2nd June, because he’d still been a minor when he’d attempted to kill Professor Dumbledore. 

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

Bulstrode was looking uncomfortable again. “It’s just I know he’d like to attend the scan. It would mean a lot to him.”

There was no need to tell the former Slytherin that she’d already agreed that Malfoy could attend the scans. But it was a chance to get some more information out of her. “Why would it mean a lot to him?”

“He really wants kids - always has. He might not come across as the most loving or paternal type, but it’s there, hidden away.”

There was nothing much Hermione could say to that. It was strange to think of Malfoy as anything other than cold and disdainful. But it was good to know, especially now that she’d agreed to him playing a prominent role in her child’s life. 

“Okay, well thanks for that, Bulstrode. When do I see you again?”

“Around your sixteenth week. We’ll start checking the baby’s heart beat at all your check-ups, as we’ll be able to pick it up. And you should start to feel the baby move around that time. It will start off as a small fluttering feeling and then start to get stronger as the baby grows.”

Hermione patted her stomach gently. She couldn’t wait until she started showing and being able to feel the baby. Hopefully, her terrible morning sickness will have started to abate by then, too. She was really struggling to get going in the mornings with how ill she was feeling.

\--------

Narcissa smiled tenderly as she watched Lucius move around Flourish and Blotts, seeking out more books to enhance the Malfoy library. Their Friday afternoon trips to Diagon Alley were something she always looked forward to. It never got boring or dull despite them having had this same routine for years. Now, it had a bittersweet quality as she never knew when the trip would be the last time they went together.

She watched her husband as he made his selections and moved back towards her. She added a couple of new releases to his pile. She was addicted to reading Auror thrillers. Lucius went off to pay for the books and she waited by the front door. They would now go to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink and a snack. Since Hannah Abbott had taken over running the place, it was much cleaner and the food was very good. Luckily, as it was Friday, Abbott’s husband, Neville Longbottom, would be teaching, so there was no chance they would run into him. It was always a little awkward when they did, which wasn’t surprising considering Lucius had fought against him in the Department of Mysteries. 

Once they were settled in a nice little table in the corner, with their drinks and some pumpkin pasties, Lucius leaned back. “Have you spoken to Draco since Astoria left?” he asked his wife.

Narcissa looked up sharply. She’d been worrying about her son recently. Despite finally divorcing his troublesome wife, he continued to look stressed. “I saw him briefly yesterday.”

“He came to speak to me this morning before leaving for work.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“He thinks the divorce was too easy and that Astoria is planning on making trouble for us.”

She sighed. “I wondered why he looked so stressed. What do you think?”

“I think he’s being paranoid. I doubt Astoria has it in her to cause any real damage.”

“Are you sure? She can be incredibly vindictive.”

“I laid the law down to her father. If they wanted to gain anything out of the settlement, then they had to keep her in line. I’m relying on Cadmus’ love of wealth to make sure that happens.”

Narcissa chewed her lip. It was a habit she’d had since childhood and one that she’d struggled to master in front of others. However, she tended to slip when in the company of those she loved and trusted. “But the settlements have been signed and they’ve got the money. How do you know Astoria won’t look to rock the boat now?”

“I don’t, but I trust Cadmus to keep his house in order.”

She wished she could feel as confident as her husband but, like Draco, she recognised that the Greengrass patriarch was a lot less dictatorial than Lucius. His daughters walked all over him and he pandered to their every whim, as the besotted father he was. This had created two young women who seemed to think they deserved to get whatever they wished. Daphne was a lot less demanding than Astoria. She was happy with simpler things, as shown by her marriage to Colin Warrington, who only kept his job because his father-in-law employed him. Draco had returned from the Greengrass offices many times complaining about ‘that idiot, Warrington’. But Astoria had ambitions and Narcissa didn’t think she’d suddenly lost them because Lucius decided he didn’t want her as a Malfoy anymore. 

“Hmm… I wish I had as much confidence as you do in Cadmus but there’s no point in worrying about.”

Lucius smiled at his wife. “See! That’s exactly what I said to Draco. That boy gets more and more pessimistic the longer he lives. What I wouldn’t give for some of his confidence from before the war.”

She scoffed. “Draco was a spoilt little brat. He had to grow up sometime and he’s turned out to be a fine man.”

Her husband sighed. “I know, and I’m proud of him. He’s doing a fantastic job with our interests - better than I ever managed. But I hate to see him so depressed.”

“Give him some time, Lucius. He’s been unhappy for so long that I’m not sure he remembers what it’s like to enjoy life. I’m hoping this baby will bring him plenty of reasons to smile.”

“If that Granger girl doesn’t irritate him to death first.”

Narcissa frowned. “I thought they were getting on better. He seemed a lot more positive about it all.”

“Yes, but she’s nosy, and she wants to know about Draco and Astoria.”

“Draco mentioned that briefly to me. He needs to tell her something. As a mother, I can sympathise a little with her desire to know for the child’s sake.”

Lucius smirked. “That’s got to be a first. You admitting that you can see Granger’s point of view.”

She rose haughtily from her seat. “It doesn’t mean I like the girl.”

He chuckled as he followed behind her towards the door. “I didn’t think it did for a moment, dear.”

She turned to face her amused husband as she pulled the door open. “You needn’t look so smug about it,” she said before bumping into a group coming into the pub.

“Excuse-” she started to say before she realised whom it was she’d walked into: The young woman causing her son many of his current problems. Shocked brown eyes looked back into hers and the silence grew as they continued to stand there, staring at each other mutely. 

A firm hand gripped her elbow and manoeuvred her a little to the side, her husband nodding to the three young women in front of them. “Ms. Granger, Mrs. Potter, Mrs. Weasley,” Lucius murmured politely.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. How is Draco?” the strange Lovegood-Weasley girl replied. 

She always managed to take Narcissa off-guard by her pleasant manner whenever she saw them. It wasn’t behaviour she expected from someone who’d been imprisoned in their dungeons for months. 

“He’s very well. I’ll let him know you asked about him,” Lucius replied. 

Weasley smiled in response and was about to move off with her friends when Narcissa spoke, “Ms. Granger, how are you feeling?”

The bushy-haired girl stopped and turned her head round before answering hesitantly, “I’m fine.”

Narcissa looked at Granger closely; she was looking tired, wan, and a little run down. She couldn’t help the small smile that decorated her lips. “Are you still suffering from morning sickness?” 

Granger narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the question. “Why?”

“Because you look like you are. I had the same problem when carrying Draco.”

The younger witch looked surprised at her reply. “Er… yes, it’s a bit of bad day for me.”

“Make sure you take care of yourself and my grandchild,” she said imperiously before sweeping out of the door with Lucius in tow.

\-------------

Hermione watched the two Malfoys as they left, feeling slightly dazed by the whole experience.

“Well, that was weird,” Ginny remarked. 

“I think they just really want grandkids,” Luna said.

“You see the good in everyone,” Ginny replied.

Hermione kept quiet as they got their drinks from the bar before weaving their way to their normal table towards the back.

“Why were you so suspicious of her question?” Luna asked, once they were all seated.

“I don’t know. She’s not been exactly friendly to me in the past. I thought she might offer me a potion or something.”

“I’m thinking it wouldn’t be one of the benign kind,” Ginny said.

Hermione laughed. “No! I guess I’m just a little paranoid where they are concerned. Harry didn’t help when his first reaction was that they might try to harm me.”

“How long have you known Harry now, Hermione? If he’s not suspecting someone of something nefarious, then he’s not happy,” Ginny said, amused. 

“I know, I know! I guess old habits die hard and I’ve been suspicious of that couple since I met them.”

“Tell me about it,” Ginny muttered.

Luna just shook her head good-naturedly.

“Anyway, are you coming to the Burrow this weekend, Hermione?” the redhead asked, changing the subject.

“I think so. Why?”

“It’s just Mum is complaining that you haven’t been round for a Sunday roast in ages. I think she’s fretting that you’re wasting away and not giving her the opportunity to feed you and the baby up.”

Hermione had avoided the noisy Sunday dinners at the Burrow since she’d developed morning sickness. Her sense of smell had become so sensitive and she found that she could become nauseous at the drop of a hat if smelling food that she wasn’t craving. However, she’d recently found the one thing that appeared to settle her stomach: white bread and marmite. She wasn’t one for that food combination normally, always preferring the healthier wholegrain bread options before. But the morning sickness had turned all her good food habits upside down and demanded the stodgiest of carbohydrates. She was blaming the Malfoy genes for that.

“Yes, I think I have the nausea under control, at last,” she said, delving into her bag and routing around for the small Tupperware box with her marmite sandwich in it. “Speaking of such things, I need to eat this before I become incapable of doing anything but dry heave.”

Luna and Ginny laughed as she proceeded to nibble her snack. She stuck her tongue out at them, just because they’d had nice, easy pregnancies without the crippling morning sickness.

\-----------

Hermione was glad she’d come to the Burrow when she exited the Floo Network and smelt the roast potatoes. Molly’s roast dinners were amazing and apparently the baby was recognising that, if the hunger pangs that shot through her suddenly were anything to judge by. The house was packed to the rafters as usual, with kids running around and getting under everyone’s feet. She couldn’t wait until her little Iris was joining in.

“Hermione! You came!” Molly yelled, walking over quickly to engulf her in a massive hug. 

“You know me. I couldn’t keep away for too long.”

“How are you holding up?” she asked, tipping Hermione’s chin up to analyse her face.

“Tired, but I think I’m finally conquering the morning sickness. I don’t feel as if I’ve been flattened by a herd of Hippogriffs all day anymore.”

Molly laughed. “You wait until it feels as if you’re being used for Bludger practice later on.”

“Fred and I were destined to be Beaters as soon as we were conceived,” George said in passing, giving both women a quick kiss on the cheek as he made his way over to the window to let in the owl that delivered his mother’s _Witch Weekly_ every Sunday.

“You let me know if you need anything special to eat, Hermione. It’s really no bother. I became a master at cooking a variety of meals when I was pregnant - especially by the time I got to Ginny, with six fussy boys in various stages of childhood.”

Hermione nodded her thanks and made her way over to Harry and Ron, who’d left the seat in between them free. She looked around the laughing table where everyone was at different stages of food preparation and sighed contently. She loved it here. The Burrow never failed to make her feel safe, loved, and cherished. 

“WHAT THE-!” 

Silence descended as everyone turned to see what George was shouting about, taking in his unusually fierce facial expression. He slammed the magazine he was holding down and slid it along the table until it stopped directly in front of Hermione, who paled dramatically as she took in the front cover.


	12. Scandal!

Draco whistled as he made his way through the garden, his broomstick slung over his right shoulder. He’d followed his heart this morning and made the most of the beautiful May morning to go for a ride rather than be sitting down at his desk and ploughing his way through business documents. His father was right; life was too short and if he wasn’t careful, he’d end up spending his time doing nothing but work. Besides, he’d decided it was time to take on a Personal Assistant to take over the organisation of his diary. This would free up much valuable living time. 

He cheerfully jogged his way across the vast Malfoy manicured formal lawn. He was late for lunch and his father wasn’t going to be happy. Sunday lunch was sacrosanct in Lucius’ world and no one was allowed to play truant. To make this lunch even more important, this would be the first one without Astoria in seven long years. Draco was looking forward to how much more relaxed everyone was going to be.

He took in his father’s rigid form, as well as his mother’s comforting hand on his shoulder, as he entered through the open French windows. 

“Come on, Dad! It’s not that bad. I can’t be more than five minutes late.”

And then he stopped. There was no answering snarl from his father or a reassuring look from his mother. Instead, Lucius keeled over, causing the crockery on the table to rattle, before he slumped to the floor where he began to convulse violently.

His mother cast a frantic look behind her at him. “Don’t just stand there!” she yelled. “Get a Healer over here _now!_ ”

And with that panicked plea, Draco stumbled to the door, holding onto the frame for a brief moment, looking back at his still convulsing father before sprinting into his study and placing an emergency Floo call to St. Mungo’s. 

It was less than a minute later when two Healers rushed through the Floo connection. 

“He’s through this way,” he said rapidly, rushing them back into the informal dining room where his mother had moved his father away from any objects on the carpet and was cushioning his head.

“Let us take over, ma’am,” one of the Healers said, taking her place by his father’s head whilst the other one started to time the convulsions.

His mother stood next to him, looking helpless and clutching his hand tightly.

Once the convulsions had stopped, Lucius was put in the recovery position. 

“We’ll give him some time to recover before assessing whether he needs to be admitted into the hospital,” a Healer said to the bewildered pair. “In the meantime, would you be able to tell me if anything in particular triggered this attack. We’re currently logging them all to try to define a pattern.”

“He received some shocking news. It stunned him for a while, but then he went rigid, fell to the floor and started to convulse,” Narcissa said.

Draco looked at his mother in surprise. It would have to be something monumentally big to cause this much of a reaction in his father, who was usually so calm and collected. The Healer just nodded and jotted this down before starting a quiet consultation with his partner that went on for a good five minutes.

The two conscious Malfoys could do nothing but watch. Draco could feel his mother still shaking and he was too numb to comprehend much. The seriousness of his father’s illness was driven home forcefully by this seizure and it reminded him all too keenly that a cure had not been found and Lucius could die at any moment.

Finally, the consultation ended and the Healers decided to take his father to the hospital. Apparently, Lucius’ heartbeat remained too erratic for them to be comfortable with him staying in the Manor. They wanted to bring him in for observation. 

“Give us half an hour to have him settled, Mrs. Malfoy, and then you can come and visit.”

Draco lifted the wards to allow them to Apparate Lucius to St. Mungo’s. 

After putting the wards back in place, he turned to his mother. “Okay, tell me what happened.”

She was sitting slumped in the chair Lucius usually sat in and gestured wearily to a magazine in front of her. He grabbed the magazine and stared down at it for a long while, seemingly unable to comprehend what was on the front cover. 

“That bitch!” he swore.

\----------

“ _‘Potter’s Princess Caught Out with Married Malfoy,’_ ” Ron said, reading the offensive headline out loud.

The silence in the usually bustling kitchen was deafening, made even worse for Hermione by the fact that the headline read out by Ron was ringing in her ears. Her eyes glazed over as she took in the photo adorning the front cover of Witch Weekly. It had obviously been taken during her meeting with Malfoy last Wednesday but had been taken from an angle to make them look intimate with each other. Her body was leaning across the table whilst she looked down. The drinks obscured their hands but it did look as if they were holding hands. What made the whole picture worse was the intense way Malfoy was staring at her. It could be construed as a burning, passionate look, rather than him intently listening to her agreement that he could have contact with their child. _Oh, Merlin!_ she thought. _The baby is going to be called a love child._

“What is this?” Harry asked, grabbing the magazine and flipping the pages open. 

She looked over his shoulder and groaned when she saw more photos from their Wednesday chat, including one of her furtively looking around before she entered the coffee shop.

“This is absolute rubbish! Listen to this: _‘Former Death Eater Draco Malfoy and his mistress, Muggle-born Hermione Granger, have been holding secret rendezvous in Muggle London to carry on an affair that one source said has been going on for years. Witch Weekly was privy to one such meeting this Wednesday when we followed a tip-off and saw the cheating couple in a café after work. As our exclusive photographs show, the passionate pair enjoyed coffee, intense looks, and plenty of hand-holding. His wife of seven years, Astoria, is said to be distraught at the revelations and has fled to the Greengrass family home.’_ ”

Harry threw the magazine back down onto the table in disgust where it was snapped up by Ginny, whose face grew redder and redder the longer she looked through it. “It’s that cow, Rita Skeeter,” she said.

Hermione was pulled out of her stupor by the warm hand that landed heavily on her shoulder. She looked to her left and into the supportive face of Ron. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

She opened her mouth to speak and frowned when nothing happened. She was so stunned that she was actually speechless. She could feel the tears starting to well up in her eyes and tried her hardest to blink them back. She was not going to give in and cry over this. It wasn’t the first time Skeeter had printed lies about her and she doubted it would be the last. She looked down at her tightly interlaced hands before clearing her throat. “I don’t know what to say.”

“We’ll sue them. What’s that thing I’ve seen on programmes on your TV, Hermione? Libel. Yeah, that’s it. We’ll sue them for libel,” Ron said angrily.

Hermione giggled then. It started off as a small sound before morphing into uncontrollable laughter. “S-s-sorry,” she stuttered, wiping the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. She couldn’t work out if was she crying or laughing any more. It took many tissues and back-patting from her two best friends before she could stop. For once, the Weasley clan had just sat silently, allowing her the time to react to this horror story. 

“Ron, you’re an Auror. You know there’s no such thing as libel or slander in the wizarding laws,” Ginny said. “If there were, Skeeter would’ve been sued millions of times in the past.”

“I’m pleased to see that you and Draco are getting on better,” Luna said, lifting her head briefly from the magazine that had passed to her and looking at Hermione. “He looks much happier in these pictures than those times I’ve seen him with Astoria.”

Everyone looked at Luna in amazement but nothing was said. They were all used to her interjecting with random, off-topic comments. 

“Well, there should be,” Ron said sulkily, ignoring his wife and replying to his sister’s comment. 

“What are you going to do?” Angelina, George’s wife, asked Hermione.

“I don’t know. I guess I need to speak to Malfoy and see if he has any idea of who could’ve done this. Someone has tipped Skeeter off to the fact that we’re meeting but obviously put an entirely different spin on it. What a shame she registered as an Animagus so I can no longer hold that over her head.”

“Do you think it was Bulstrode?” Ron asked. “After all, she did tell Malfoy about your appointment.” 

Hermione shook her head. “No. She’s a good friend of Malfoy’s and wouldn’t want to pull his name through the mud like this.”

There was a choking noise from Audrey, Percy’s wife. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just they’ve managed to write the most ridiculous article later on. Listen to this: _‘Moralistic war heroine, Hermione Granger, has made a career out of lecturing the wizarding world on better treatment for magical creatures, house-elves most prominently. Now we find out how hypocritical Hermione really is. Apparently, wives do not fall under the category of needing to be treated with respect.’_ It continues on in the same vein.”

Molly clucked disapprovingly before hastily rummaging through a kitchen drawer, pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill. 

“What’re you doing, Mum?” George asked.

“I’m not standing for this nonsense. I’m cancelling my subscription to that… that _rag_. How dare they print such disgusting lies?”

Hermione was warmed by this action, especially, as when she’d had her problems with _Witch Weekly_ in the past, notably during the Triwizard Tournament, Molly had believed the magazine and had been frosty towards her until Harry had cleared it all up. 

She smiled at Molly. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

“We all know the truth, my dear, and are standing firmly behind you.”

And the Weasley matriarch was right. Looking around the large kitchen table, all she saw was love and support. She knew that the rest of the magical community would not be so understanding and would be more than willing to believe the lies, but as long as she had a strong circle of friends, then she could cope with the censure she was bound to face. 

The kitchen door opened and Arthur walked through, rubbing his hand wearily over his face. “Afternoon, Weasleys,” he said tiredly.

“Here, Dad, come and sit down,” Percy said, standing up from the chair Arthur usually inhabited. 

Molly rushed around, getting her husband a cup of tea, summoning milk from the fridge and narrowly missing Percy's head as he moved to get a new seat. 

“I thought you didn’t have to go on raids anymore as its no longer part of your job description,” Molly scolded her husband.

“There was a shortage in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts. Wayne Hopkins’ wife went into labour and you know no one knows that department like I do.”

Molly just harrumphed but smoothed her husband’s hair down affectionately. Hermione smiled at the easy interaction and looked around the table at all the Weasley children and their spouses. Molly and Arthur had set an amazing example of marital happiness to their children and it showed. Not a single Weasley had made an unhappy marriage – not even George, with the rather morbid choice to marry his dead twin’s girlfriend. 

She sighed and looked down, feeling lonelier than ever. It was hard not to feel the lack of not having a spouse when loved-up couples continually surrounded you. It was a shame Charlie wasn’t present today. At least she wouldn’t be the only single person at the table if he were. Charlie was married to his work, much in the same way Hermione was. The only difference was that Charlie had no desire to marry and have a family. Molly was forever nagging him that it was time to settle down but Charlie always joked that no woman could give him as much love as his dragons did.

Revived by a slurp of tea, Arthur looked around the table. “So, has the Weasley Sunday lunch thrown up any scandal or controversy I should know about?”

It was the kind of teasing comment Arthur would make, a gentle dig at the fact that there was always some drama happening amongst his family, but it was unfortunate that he chose those particular words today. A deathly silence fell over the table. The Weasley patriarch looked around, confused by this strange occurrence.

“What did I say?” he asked.

All eyes slid towards Hermione, who grimaced and held her hand out. Fleur passed the offending magazine to her and she held it up for Arthur to see. 

“I’m front page news,” she said in an off-hand manner that hid the pain caused by looking at the lurid cover of the magazine.

Arthur blinked several times rapidly, as if he didn’t trust his eyes whilst reading the hateful articles. He then frowned. “I had to take Woodfield to St. Mungo’s. He was attacked by the cursed nutcrackers-”

Every male around the table winced and shifted uncomfortably in their seat. 

“-we were sent to collect. When I was there, I saw Lucius Malfoy being rushed in. He didn’t look conscious and was quickly surrounded by Healers. I did ask if it was something the Ministry needed to help with. You know the Malfoys have a lot of enemies still but I was assured that it was nothing like that. Now, I can see what might have caused it.”

“Great,” Hermione muttered. All she could think of was the field day the gossips would have if Lucius died because of this. Because of her. The Mudblood stain on his family.

\---------

Draco was numb as he made his way through St. Mungo’s, hand-in-hand with his mother. He knew that beneath the deadened surface of his emotions, there was a mass of rage, anger, and anxiety swirling. He just hoped that he was in the privacy of the Manor when his feelings finally erupted.

He felt Narcissa stumble and he steadied her. She looked up at him with fear-filled eyes causing him to feel helpless. How could he reassure her that everything was going to be okay when he was scared stiff that they would get there and Lucius would be dead? Merlin! What would he do if his father were dead? He couldn’t cope with this mess without Lucius’ guiding hand. His father had _always_ been there for him. The one time he hadn’t, Draco had managed to get roped into becoming a Death Eater. Despite popular opinion, there was a deep and abiding bond between them. Yes, his father had had unrealistic expectations. Yes, he’d been disappointed that Draco had finished behind Granger in exams and Potter on the Quidditch pitch. But he’d _always_ loved him, and Draco had _always_ felt loved. 

His eyes narrowed as he thought once more of Astoria. There was no doubt in his mind that she was behind the story. She’d been far too yielding and cheerful regarding the divorce. Only one thing made Astoria that happy, and that was getting her way. She might not be a Malfoy wife anymore, but she’d made sure that she’d gotten her revenge. And dragged their names through the mud in the process. 

They finally made it up to the fourth-floor, where those suffering from spell damage were housed. They were stopped by a Healer before they went on to the ward where Lucius was.

“Mrs. Malfoy, I’m Holly Ashfield, the Head Healer for this department. I’ve been dealing with your husband’s case from the beginning. Now, I’d like to reassure you that he’s fine. He’s just woken up and is a little groggy but apart from that, there should be no lasting effects from today’s attack.”

Draco squeezed his mother’s hand, which was still shaking in his hold. 

“Does he remember anything?” Narcissa asked.

“Oh yes! You don’t need to worry. His memory isn’t impaired in any way. It never has been with this particular illness.”

He felt rather than heard his mother’s massive sigh and realised that with the Healer’s reassurances, some tension went out of his own shoulders. The Healer pushed the door of the ward open.

“He’s in Bed 23, Bay 9,” she informed them.

They went through the door, his mother moving a lot more freely now than the stiff walk she’d had previously. 

They found the bay easily enough, and his father was currently the only occupant out of the six beds located there. Draco’s breath hitched as he saw his father. The vulnerability of Lucius’ condition was brought home by the fact that his hair was out of place: tangled and rough rather than the long, smooth mane Draco had always seen. His eyes were dulled and bloodshot, probably due to the potions he’d taken, but the ordeal of the convulsions couldn’t have helped. 

Narcissa let out a sob and his father held out a hand for her to take. She ran over and clutched it, a few tears escaping down her face. 

“Hey! What’s this?” Lucius asked. 

His mother shook her head and swallowed a few times, obviously trying to regain some composure. She gave a watery chuckle. “You gave us quite a scare,” she said.

“I know,” he replied, stroking her cheek softly. “But I’m fine, and I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

Narcissa snuggled into his palm, closing her eyes at the sheer pleasure of his touch.

Draco couldn’t help but feel out of place as he watched the tender scene between his parents. This was what he wanted. Not a broken marriage with a cold-hearted woman or a child conceived in a test tube. He wanted love and affection and all the things that came with it. Oh, he wasn’t naïve. He’d heard his parents’ fights now and again. They had been particularly prevalent after the war with the stress of trying to rebuild everything. But they never lasted long and, if anything, his parents’ marriage seemed to come out stronger after each one. There was no bitterness that tainted their partnership, slowly turning it sour.

“Son?” 

Draco looked up and saw his father beckoning him over with his spare hand. He smiled at him and moved to the other side of the bed, gently clasping his shoulder.

“Don’t do that to us again, Dad.”

“I’ll try my hardest but I can’t guarantee it won’t happen again.”

The atmosphere turned sober as the three of them digested this news. This was the reality of Lucius’ illness and it was only likely to get worse. It was slowly killing him and unless a cure was found soon, then he would be gone for good.

“I’m still angry that you kept this from me. How on earth did you keep seizures like that a secret?” Narcissa asked.

“They’ve never come on like that before. I think it was the shock that triggered it more than anything. And I owe you an apology, Draco.”

He looked at his father enquiringly.

“You warned me about Astoria. You said it had been too easy and I didn’t listen.”

Draco shrugged, not particularly happy to have been proved right. He’d rather Lucius continued to laugh at him for being paranoid and pessimistic. “I was hoping to be proved wrong,” he replied.

“We all wish that was the case,” Narcissa said before sighing and sinking into a visitor’s chair. 

“Have you spoken to the Granger girl?” Lucius asked.

Draco shot him a disbelieving look. “I’ve barely even looked at the magazine. I’ve been a bit distracted,” he said pointedly. 

“All right, I understand. My mind’s a little slow right now.”

The twinge of pain stabbed through him once more. His father was never slow. He was always trying to figure out the possible consequence to every scenario – not always successfully, as Astoria’s stunt proved. 

“Let’s concentrate on getting you back to the Manor and then we’ll worry about this,” Narcissa said in a matter-of-fact tone. 

“Sounds like a good idea, Mother,” he said with a smile in her direction. 

He was pleased to note that she was regaining the delicate colour in her face. He hadn’t liked seeing her so pale and drawn. 

A Healer chose that moment to enter the room, bringing any mention of the previous conversation to a close. The Malfoys did not wash their dirty linen in public.

\-------

As he walked his way back through the lobby of St. Mungo’s, Draco had to be blind to not notice the stares and whispers that were following him around. It wasn’t anything new; he’d suffered similar treatment for a few years following the war. But it was an unwelcome reminder of how serious the situation now facing him and Granger was. Just when it seemed they had ironed out one set of differences, this had come to bludgeon them around the head. As if things couldn’t have become messier than they already were.

He sighed and refused to give the reaction that his audience expected. His non-existent love life might be spread all over the tabloid press but it didn’t mean he would break down and cause the scene they were all hoping for. 

“Draco!” a female voice called across the reception.

He turned and saw Millie jogging her way towards him. 

“I need to talk to you,” she said once she’d weaved her way through the staring bystanders. 

“Come back to the Manor,” he replied. “It’ll be just us there.”

“Where are your parents? And why are you here on a Sunday?” she asked.

“Long story,” he murmured, aware that those closest to them where trying to eavesdrop on the conversation.

Millie clocked on to the fact that they were the centre of attention, and apart from a confused look at the interest they were attracting, she said nothing, just walking silently next to him over to the bank of fireplaces that housed the Floo Network. 

Once they were ensconced in Draco’s study, Millie gave into the questions that had been obviously plaguing her. 

“What’s going on, Draco? How come everyone was staring at us and why where you at St. Mungo’s?”

He walked over to his desk and frowned as he saw the offending publication sitting on his blotter. Apparently, a house-elf had placed it there, probably thinking that they were being helpful. He flicked it open, briefly scouring its contents and ignoring Millie’s impatient shuffling. The frown returned to his face before he slammed it shut and chucked it over to his friend. Her gasp as she caught it, turned it over, and saw the full glory of the headline, did nothing to soothe his bad temper.

“What the hell is this?” she asked.

“The article that put my father in St. Mungo’s. It brought on a seizure.”

“Seizure?”

Draco rubbed a hand over his eyes, remembering that he hadn’t had the opportunity to speak to any of his friends about his father’s condition. “My father’s sick. He’s been seeking treatment at St. Mungo’s for a couple of years. They’re not sure what the illness is. It’s the main reason he wants this child with Granger so much.”

She sent him a sympathy-filled look. “I’m really sorry.”

“Yeah, me, too. We’re still not sure if he’s going to be cured or not.”

Millie stared at him with wide eyes. “Wow, Draco, you really are having a tough year.”

He snorted mirthlessly. That was an understatement.

His friend looked back down at the magazine before raising her head and looking at him once more. “Astoria?” 

He nodded. “Most likely. I can’t think of anyone else who’d want to do this. The only people I’ve told outside my family are you and Pansy, and I doubt any of Granger’s friends would want to screw her over. That leaves one candidate and she’s not exactly enamoured of the Malfoy family at the moment.”

Millie was flicking through the offending magazine, her eyes growing wider and wider. “This is a real hatchet job.”

“Well, they do say ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’”

“And to think I was coming to inform you that Granger had pumped me for information at her last appointment.”

“What?”

“She threatened to report me for telling you about her appointments and placing that Galleon on her if I didn’t tell her what she wanted to know. You know how much I love my job, Draco.”

He did and he didn’t begrudge her saving it. “What did she want to know?”

“About you and Astoria.”

“It doesn’t matter now, anyway,” he said, gesturing to the magazine.

“But will she know who’s done this?”

Draco shrugged. “Probably not, but it’s not as if I can keep it quiet. Thanks to my darling ex-wife, Granger and I are going to be under the public’s scrutiny. Just wait until she starts showing.”

Millie nodded in agreement before coming over and grabbing his hand. Sadness was all but radiating out of her eyes. That was one of the things he loved about Millicent Bulstrode. She had amazing empathy. Not many looked beyond her slightly butch appearance to the sensitive personality that existed underneath. She could be gruff in nature but she’d do anything for her friends. 

“We’ll stand with you, Draco. You know that, right? Me and Pans, we’ll make sure we’re shoulder to shoulder with you - and Granger, if needs be.”

He smiled and squeezed her hand. “I know you will, Millie. You’re a friend in a million.”

\--------

It wasn’t until the next morning that his father returned from St. Mungo’s. He could have come home the night before, but Healer Ashfield had wanted to keep him in to be on the safe side.

Draco went up to Lucius room, once he’d been settled. His father was looking much more like himself. His hair was neat, tied up with the usual black ribbon, and he was sitting up in his bed doing his best to ignore his fussing wife and house-elves. 

“Draco!” he called, as his son walked in. “Just the person I wanted to see.”

“What can I do, Father?”

“Go to the Ministry and fetch the Granger girl! We need to discuss our response to this outrage and she needs to be here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, I decided years of Hermione's influence and Arthur's pleading would lead to there being a fridge installed at the Burrow.


	13. Discussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's food cravings in this chapter are courtesy of my previous pregnancies (and I really don't like salt & vinegar crisps but they have been my favourite flavour this last pregnancy). And the key-sucking craving is also true - thankfully not mine but a previous landlady!

Hermione was cursing her inability to call in sick when she wasn’t actually ill. The amazed looks and whispers that were following her around the Ministry so far were taking a toll. She was currently avoiding going to the canteen for lunch. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than having to sit in that room and deal with all the speculation and gossip flying around about her.

She’d been pretty upset by some of the nasty, hissed comments that had already come her way, one even from a colleague in her department who she’d gotten along with reasonably well. It appeared that she was featured as the scarlet woman, the home-breaker. She sighed. The other woman was always vilified. And she hadn’t even had an affair. 

She turned her chair to stare out of her enchanted window. She wished that the weather department had taken note of her mood and arranged for storms to be shown outside. Instead, the sun was shining brightly through her window with a picture-perfect blue sky.

There was a knock on her door. She spun her chair back and looked warily at the door before calling out a calm “Come in.”

A head of messy black hair appeared and she relaxed. “Harry!”

“Expecting someone else?”

“With the day I’m currently having, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was someone with the nerve to pretend to have a work-related query and then start questioning me about _that_ story.”

“Yeah, I thought that might be the case when I didn’t see you in the canteen. So I come bearing food,” he said, waving a paper bag at her.

She hadn’t thought she could stomach any food, but the smell of a jacket potato wafted over to her and she realised she was really hungry. 

“Thanks,” she said gratefully as he came into her office and placed it in front of her.

He produced an identical bag and sat down in the chair opposite hers. “I also thought you might need some company.”

She smiled at him. This is what she loved about Harry: the unerring sympathy he had for anyone having a bad time of it. 

“How bad is it down there?” she asked.

“No one has quite had the guts to ask me anything, but the silence that fell as I walked into the canteen was telling.”

She groaned. This was ten times worse than her fourth year at Hogwarts. At least the school could only hold so many people. The Ministry was larger and, if possible, even more prone to gossip than a bunch of school kids. 

“Great,” she muttered before tucking into the potato piled high with cheese and melting butter. 

Harry chuckled at the moan of pure bliss she released after her first bite. His potato was half the size and had a much more modest mound of cheese and included baked beans. “Ginny wasn’t lying about your potato fetish.”

“I can’t help it. I just crave potato, and not anything healthy like boiled potatoes, but either chips or jacket potatoes with the unhealthiest fillings. Or crisps - I can eat my way through an entire multi-pack of Walkers Salt and Vinegar crisps.”

“You don’t like salt and vinegar crisps.”

“I know!”

“I’m just grateful it’s not something truly disgusting. Ginny liked the taste of metal for a while, and I would find her sucking on my keys.”

Hermione giggled at that. 

“There it is. I knew there was a laugh deep down in you somewhere,” he remarked. 

“You know I can never remain _too_ depressed with either you or Ron to cheer me up.”

There was another knock on her door and she frowned. This was likely to be someone nosy as Ron was currently on annual leave, celebrating his wedding anniversary with Luna. 

She pushed her half-eaten potato away and called for whomever it was to enter. The door swung open to reveal Malfoy, and she half-stood up in shock.

“Are you crazy!” she hissed. “You can’t come here today of all days.”

He shut the door behind him and leant against it, that horrendous smirk on his face. “Why, hello to you too, Granger.”

“What do you want?” she asked, sitting back down.

Malfoy ignored her frantic question, instead turning his attention to Harry. “Potter,” he said in acknowledgement.

Harry nodded back.

“Well?” she asked once more, putting her hands on her hips and huffing.

“Relax, Granger. I came at lunchtime because I knew it would be quieter, and I also used a Disillusionment charm before knocking on your office.”

She deflated a little at that, the tension seeping out of her shoulders. At least he had the sense to take precautions. The last thing she needed to make this day any worse was Malfoy’s little visit becoming front page news and confirming, in everyone’s minds, that they’d been carrying on a clandestine affair.

“Why are you here?”

“Your presence is required at Malfoy Manor.”

Her eyebrow rose at the command and she couldn’t help but lock eyes with Harry, who was looking as if all his Christmases had come early. He knew how well she responded to such orders. Malfoy obviously didn’t.

“Excuse me?” she asked extremely politely, giving him the option to wisely rephrase his sentence. But it appeared that Malfoy was as dense as ever.

“I knew that hair had to make you a little deaf. I said, I need you to come to the Manor.”

“I’m sorry, but when did a summons from _you_ mean that _I_ have to take it?”

Malfoy finally seemed to get it. He looked from Hermione to Harry and then snorted. “Oh Mighty Granger, will you please come to the Manor?”

She ignored the sarcastic tone. “Why?”

He rolled his eyes. “I think we might need to sit down and discuss a little something that happened yesterday.”

“That’s true, but why your house?”

“Where else are we going to meet? In another café? We saw how well that worked out last time.”

“Why not my place?”

“Because my father wants to be present and he’s currently on bed rest on his Healer’s orders.”

“Your father? But why do I have to discuss this with him?”

“It may have escaped your notice, but the Malfoy name has been dragged through the mud along with your own and that does concern my father.”

Harry kicked her under the desk and she turned to look at him. He shook his head at the objection she was about to make. She sighed and guessed that she was going to have to get this over and done with, no matter how much she didn’t want to sit down with all the Malfoys present.

“Fine, I’ll come to yours after work, but I’m bringing Harry with me.”

“You know, Granger, you can do things without Potter holding your hand,” Malfoy remarked.

“There’s no way I’m coming on my own. Take it or leave it.”

“Fine,” he said with a sigh. “Shall we say 6PM?”

Hermione checked that was a good time for Harry before she nodded in agreement.

“Okay, well, I’ll get out of your hair before this place gets busy again. By the way, I think the Weasel’s rubbing off on you,” Malfoy said.

“What?” she asked, confused.

He pointed towards her potato. “That’s definitely a Weasley-sized portion there.”

She scowled as he left her office, chuckling at his own pathetic attempt at a joke.

“Maybe he should try being pregnant,” she muttered.

A muffled choke from Harry made her look at her friend, who was trying to hide his laughter. “It’s not that funny,” she said with a huff.

“I don’t know. He’s right; that is a potato only Ron would try eating.”

She pulled her lunch back towards her and stuck her tongue out at Harry as she tucked back in.

\---------

“Well?” Lucius asked as Draco returned from the Ministry and went straight up to his father’s room.

“She’s coming after work. Annoyingly, she’s bringing Potter with her.”

His father shrugged. “I expected something like that. He always was a meddlesome boy.”

“Or maybe she needed some emotional support. This isn’t exactly neutral territory, and her one and only visit here wasn’t particularly nice,” Narcissa pointed out fairly.

When his mother put it that way, Draco felt a little guilty. He really hadn’t given Granger’s feelings much thought at all. He was focused on the problem facing them, and it had been a while since he’d had to think about that terrible last year of the war and the stress and terror he’d felt as Potter and his two friends were dragged into Malfoy Manor. And his feelings would have been nothing compared to what Granger would’ve experienced. He’d been pretty boorish with his ‘invitation’, too. 

Both Malfoy men looked at each other, a little uncomfortable with the suggestion Narcissa had come up with. 

“Anyway,” Lucius said smoothly, looking to move the conversation on, “she’s coming, which is good. We need her here in order to discuss how we’re going to respond to this scandal.” He was never very comfortable when the war was brought up. Draco always thought it was because his father knew how wrong he’d been in his actions but hated to admit it, even to himself. 

Draco nodded, sighed and excused himself. He really needed to get back to business. He’d wasted enough of his Monday on this mess his vindictive ex-wife had created.

However, he didn’t have that luxury when he made it to his study. There, sitting on his sofa, with a raised eyebrow and a copy of _Witch Weekly_ , was Pansy. 

“I was beginning to wonder if you and Granger had actually eloped.”

“Not now, Pans. I’m really not in the mood.”

“Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you to show up for at least an hour.”

“At least my house-elves have entertained you royally,” he said, pointing to the detritus of what was once a lunch sitting on his coffee table.

“Along with Rita Skeeter and her ‘anonymous’ source, which I take it is - how is she described here? Oh yes, ‘the distraught, betrayed young Malfoy wife.’ Of course, we all know the real description would read ‘bitter, nasty cow, Astoria’, but I guess that wouldn’t get the sympathy card played nearly as effectively.”

Draco couldn’t help but smile. Pansy’s summary was the best thing he’d heard in the last couple of days. “So, you’ve seen it then?” 

She gave him a disbelieving look. “You are kidding me, right? Has anyone in the wizarding community not seen it yet? Even those who would spurn looking at _Witch Weekly_ have seen _this_.”

He flopped down on the other side of the sofa and groaned. Pansy patted his knee comfortingly. “Don’t worry, Draco, it just means you have star billing.”

“Great! Just what I need - to be prime gossip for the gutter press.”

“Well, to be fair, your family has been that for a while now. Only it’s been speculation before.”

“What? You mean compared to the out and out lies that this is.”

“So, how are you going to respond?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’m not too keen on the truth coming out but I haven’t had a moment to even think any alternatives through.”

Pansy looked at him with sad eyes. “Yes, I spoke to Millie last night. How is Lucius?”

“He seems okay but is on bed rest.”

Her eyes widened at that. She couldn’t imagine the commanding Malfoy patriarch following such orders. He hated to be stuck doing nothing, especially in such a situation. “How’s he dealing with that?”

Draco could easily read between the lines of her question. “You needn’t think he isn’t developing plans. It just means he hasn’t been able to go and intimidate Skeeter in her office. But he’s got something thought out as he demanded I get Granger to come here later today.”

“That sounds like it’ll be fun.”

“Yep - she’s bringing Potter. It’ll be a nice little reunion,” he said sarcastically.

Pansy couldn’t hold back the snort of laughter. “That will be cheery.”

“Oh well, it’ll probably be hideous. But it needs to happen. Whether I like it or not, we’re going to have to deal with Astoria’s lies and Granger has to be involved.”

“I’m sure she’s going to be thrilled when she learns it’s your ex-wife who has caused all these problems.”

“Yeah, that’s going to be fun conversation. Oh, and the fact that Astoria is my ex-wife.”

She shook her head at him in disbelief. “I can’t believe that you have failed to tell Granger almost anything pertinent. It would serve you right if she decided to sacrifice you to get herself out of this mess.”

“Why should I have delved into my personal life to appease her curiosity?”

“You have too many trust issues, Draco. Unless it escaped your attention, she is carrying your child. You’re going to have to work with her for the considerable future, which pretty much indicates having to trust her at some point.”

He ran a hand through his hair. Pansy had a point but it was one that he wasn’t too sure he was ready to confront. He had no reason to trust Granger, and he didn’t particularly like her. He certainly didn’t want her two best friends knowing intimate details about his life. Whilst he might be able to acknowledge Potter or Weasley when the occasion called for it, he still loathed them. And he knew he wouldn’t be able to bear their smug looks when they realised just how much he had cocked up his private life. 

The emotions running through his mind weren’t lost on Pansy. She tilted her head knowingly at him before deciding to take pity and leave him to bury himself in his work. She knew him well enough to see that business was his coping mechanism and that he was going to need all the composure he had to get himself through the evening with his parents, Granger, and Potter. 

If there was one thing Draco hated, it was turmoil. She knew it had to do with their last two years at Hogwarts and the realisation that everything he’d been taught growing up was a pile of rubbish. It had turned his life upside down and it had taken him a good while to recover - well, externally anyway. She wasn’t sure that he had truly recovered. The fiasco of his marriage hadn’t helped. He needed a woman who would steady him and show him loyalty. Someone who’d take that pessimistic streak he’d developed and turn it into something positive. He needed to be reminded of what life could hold.

She sighed. She hadn’t seen Draco happy in such a long while that she wasn’t even sure he could be. The cocksure, arrogant little boy had turned into a morose, depressed adult. Oh, he hid it well. Those who didn’t know him just saw the swagger and wealth and assumed that he’d landed on his two feet once more. But Pansy, who had been privy to all his fears and dreams during the time they’d dated, knew differently. He longed for the happiness that he saw around him. The deep and abiding love that his parents shared, the satisfaction and happiness that she had with Adrian, even the contentment that infused Potter’s whole being and was plain for all to see. 

“I’d better be going,” she said. “Adrian will be wondering where I am.”

He nodded, slowly getting up from the sofa and moving in the direction of his desk. 

She stayed his arm, moved by the look of sheer despair on his face. “It’ll be fine, Draco. This could turn out better than you expect.”

He looked down at her, his eyes flat and dull. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better, Pans.”

She could tell that he didn’t believe her. She leant up and kissed his cheek before grabbing her copy of _Witch Weekly_ and throwing Floo powder into his fireplace.

As expected, Adrian was waiting for her. She had made loose lunch plans with him but had sent an owl to cancel them, which she never did, and if anything was designed to get him to return home, it was that.

“Where have you been, love?” he asked.

“I went to see Draco,” she replied, a little absently, still focusing on how to try to help her best friend.

“Ah,” Adrian said knowingly. “How’s he coping?”

“His usual way. You know, glum facial expression, lack of hope in the world, general inability to trust anyone outside his small circle of close friends and family. I just wish there was a way to show him that not everything has to be so depressing.”

“Shame he and Granger aren’t really seeing each other.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know, but she’s the kind of woman who would do him good. She’d give him a run for his money, not settle for his crap, and would shake up him up. Despite changing their position on blood status for expediency, the Malfoys are still stuck in the old ways too much. Draco has never dated anyone but purebloods.”

“Draco hasn’t dated much, full stop,” Pansy pointed out.

“True, but it’s not as if he’d even contemplate it. He allowed himself to think he’d fallen in love with Astoria because she was everything he’d been brought up to believe he should marry. Had she been half-blood, he’d never have looked at her.”

She pondered this for a moment. Adrian had put his finger on something she hadn’t considered before. Draco hadn’t really looked out of the box or even trod anywhere close to the sides of it. He’d remained cocooned in the pureblood world, only really venturing out for business or political means. But those didn’t really change an individual; they were done for money or show. She looked down at the magazine once more, the picture of Draco with Granger taking on new meaning.

“Maybe this will be a good thing. I tried to tell Draco that, but it was mainly to try to not let him get too down about it.”

Her husband wasn’t slow and he knew the avenues her mind had wandered down. “Granger would change him fundamentally, but I don’t see that as a bad thing. She’d stand by him, too.”

“I wonder-” Pansy said before trailing off. 

“Don’t get involved, Pans. He needs to make this discovery on his own. It’s no good pushing him; this has to come from him.”

She nodded her agreement but looked at the front cover of _Witch Weekly_ once more, a little smile playing around her lips. “Why do I think nothing will be the same? Astoria’s looking to destroy him but she might just have made him.”

\-----------

Hermione wiped her palms down the sides of her robes. She was nervous about this whole meeting. It had played on her mind since lunchtime. Why did Lucius Malfoy want her attendance at the Manor? She couldn’t help but think that nothing good could come out of it. That somehow, this would change everything. She wasn’t sure why, but there was a tingle in her gut that seemed to indicate that there would be no going back.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, his hand placed on her shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

“I think so. I don’t know; there’s just something that makes me think this is the turning point.”

“What do you mean?”

She frowned, frustrated at being unable to adequately frame what she wanted to say. Not that she even really knew what it was. She looked back at her friend, who was staring down at her, concern written across his face.

She smiled reassuringly at him. “Don’t mind me. I think I’m just letting everything get to me.”

“And you’re going back to the Manor.”

She shivered a little at that. “It’s strange. I haven’t thought about _that_ day for ages.”

“That’s good. We needed to put the war behind us to be able to live.”

“You’re right, but it seems as if somehow I’m doomed to be tied up with the Malfoys.”

Harry’s hand involuntarily gripped her shoulder tightly. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, anxiety colouring his tone.

She shook her head as if trying to dispel the ominous feeling. “I’m just being silly. Let’s get this over and done with.”

His hand slipped down to her wrist. “You don’t have to do this, Hermione. You owe them nothing. If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to go.”

Whilst part of her wanted to jump at Harry’s suggestion for a brief moment, it soon damped down and she realised that she needed to go. For some reason, the idea of change, even one including Malfoy, couldn’t be that bad. She couldn’t continue as she was, anyway.

She smiled brightly and a little falsely at him. “I’ll be fine. Besides, you know me, I’ll be eaten up with curiosity if I don’t go and find out what Lucius wants with me.”

“How are we getting there?”

“Malfoy sent me an owl; he’s told us to use the Floo Connection. Apparently, there are reporters camped outside the gates to the Manor.”

Harry nodded and followed her down from her office, where he’d met her, to the busy atrium, where people were coming and going from the fireplaces every few seconds. His fierce look deterred anyone from giving in to their curiosity and coming to ask her about the supposed affair. She couldn’t help but smile a little. After years of being his guard dog, it was nice to have him return the favour. Things could never be too bad when she had her best friend at her side. 

As Hermione held the Floo powder in her hand, she steadied her breathing, which had become rapid and shallow. She was not going to have a nervous breakdown over this. It was only a house, and she’d gotten over the things that had happened to her during the war years ago. She defiantly threw the powder into the fireplace and called out her destination.

In the end, her anxiety was replaced by unmitigated interest. She came out in what she assumed was a travel room. She had never been to one of the old wizarding mansions - well, not really. She didn’t count her capture as a visit. Of course, she’d read all about them and was fascinated with the features they included. For example, travel rooms allowed people to enter via the Floo Network but they were unable to go any further. The doors to the rooms were heavily warded so they were trapped inside in case they were unwelcome visitors. There was a spy-hole somewhere around the room where the family could see who had come to visit them.

Before she had time to properly look around the Spartan room, Malfoy stepped forward. 

“Thanks for coming, Granger.”

She nodded her acknowledgment but before she could say anything, the fireplace roared into life again and spat Harry out. She continued to look around her as Malfoy greeted her friend. 

“So, where is it then?” she asked. “I can’t find it.” 

Malfoy and Harry turned to her with identical expressions of confusion on their faces. 

“The spy-hole,” she explained.

Harry chuckled a little whilst Malfoy’s eyebrows rose. But he took pity on her curiosity and pointed to a large gilt mirror. “It’s one-way glass,” he said.

“Of course,” she muttered.

“Anyway, if you’re both ready, my parents are waiting.”

The hint of a question was not lost on Hermione, and she was gratified that Malfoy was at least sensitive enough to realise that this could be traumatic for both of them. 

“Where are we going?” Harry asked, clearly hoping it wasn’t going to be anywhere either of them had visited before.

“My father’s sitting room. It’s upstairs.”

As Malfoy led them across the lobby and up the grand staircase, Hermione couldn’t help but think what a difference a trip made if you weren’t terrified. She was now able to look around her with interest. And make no mistake, Malfoy Manor was fascinating. It started off as formal, cold and intimidating but as they traversed along a corridor two floors up, the surroundings changed to something much warmer and welcoming. The décor was still rich and impressive but there was a lack of marble and gilt that made it more comfortable. 

Malfoy stopped in front of a pair of large wooden doors and knocked. 

Lucius’s voice rang out, giving them permission to enter. As Malfoy turned and ushered them in, Hermione gave Harry’s arm a brief squeeze. Whilst Lucius may have despised her, she didn’t have the same antagonistic history with him as Harry did. She was doubly grateful that Harry had put this aside to support her. 

The room they entered was decorated all in blue from very pale blue walls to deep blue velvet curtains, which were currently corded back, giving a magnificent view over a formal garden and lake from several different windows. Lucius lay propped up on a chaise longue in a fabulous brocaded dressing gown over a shirt and trousers that automatically made her think of Georgette Heyer’s books. Sitting in a straight-backed chair next to him was Narcissa. She looked as icy and prim as always.

“Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter, thank you very much for coming,” Lucius said. “Please excuse being greeted in my private sitting room rather than properly in one of the drawing rooms.”

Hermione couldn’t help but feel grateful that they were up here rather than downstairs. She assumed they had more than one drawing room, as most of these old manor houses did, but she was grateful to have avoided the horror of potentially being in the same one that she’d been in previously.

“That’s okay, Mr. Malfoy,” Harry replied politely.

She pulled herself from her thoughts and smiled politely in Lucius’ direction. 

“Please, take a seat,” Lucius said.

The two friends sat on a sofa that faced the chaise longue. She noticed that Malfoy sat on a seat on the other side of his father. It was very much as if it was her and Harry ranged against the Malfoys, but she tried to dispel this feeling. It wouldn’t do any of them any good if she became defensive and prickly. 

“Draco, I think it would be a good idea if you were to fill our guests in on everything that has been happening here,” Lucius said to his son. 

Hermione knew that it wasn’t a suggestion but more like an order. She had to suppress the smile that was itching to break out across her lips. It appeared that no matter how old Malfoy was, he still took orders from his daddy. 

Malfoy sighed, looking at her briefly before staring abstractly at the wall behind her. “We know who gave the story to the Skeeter-”

“You do! How come you didn’t say anything earlier,” she interrupted.

“Because it’s better to have the conversation now.”

“Who was it then?”

“Astoria.”

Hermione frowned. “But why would your wife do something like that? She wants everyone to think you’ve been having an affair?”

“Astoria and I were divorced last week. It appears that this was her revenge on the family.”

She was shocked. She knew from Bulstrode that things weren’t good between Malfoy and his wife but still, she wasn’t expecting this news. She looked at Harry and saw that he was just as gobsmacked. However, it explained why Astoria wasn’t at this deeply uncomfortable meeting.

“What?! When were you going to tell me this? Surely last week would have been the perfect opportunity to tell me that you were in the middle of a divorce.”

“Maybe we should concentrate on dealing with the situation now,” Lucius said smoothly.

She shot Malfoy a glare to show him that this conversation was far from over and then turned her attention to the elder Malfoy male. “I presume that you have some kind of plan as you’ve called this meeting.”

“Well, at least I know I won’t have to spell things out for you, Ms. Granger.”

“I don’t believe that’s ever been my problem.”

“No, I remember that you were always top of the class at Hogwarts.”

She raised an eyebrow in challenge to his reminiscence, almost daring him to say something about her Muggle-born origins, but it appeared that Lucius had learnt his lesson and wasn’t going to be so quick to make a reference to her blood. 

“Anyway, I’ve spent a long time today thinking about this and I believe I have come up with a solution to help deal with the problem Astoria has left us,” Lucius said.

As Narcissa was the only one who didn’t look intrigued, Hermione assumed that she was already aware of what was going through her husband’s mind.

“I think it’s pointless to deny the story that Astoria has put out. I doubt many will believe us, so I think it’s in our best interests to go along with it,” Lucius said.

“You’re kidding, right?” Hermione asked. “Why can’t we just tell everyone the truth?”

“As much as it pains me, I agree with Granger on this,” Malfoy said.

“Do you really want your reasons for why you chose artificial insemination coming out, Ms. Granger?”

Well, no, she didn’t, but she also didn’t want to feature as the kind of woman who would sleep with a married man. “I really don’t see how going along with the lies is any better than just telling the truth.”

“And are you sure everyone would believe the truth? Especially when the lies make for such an interesting scandal,” Lucius said.

Hermione looked at Harry who shrugged a little helplessly. If anyone knew the power of lies, then it was her best friend. “But surely we could get the clinic to confirm the truth,” she said.

“Whilst I would love to have your faith in mankind, Ms. Granger, I’m aware of how the real world works. It wouldn’t take too long for someone to suggest that the Malfoy money had helped get the clinic to confirm the story.”

“So, what? You’re suggesting that Hermione and Malfoy go along with the ridiculous idea that they’ve been having an affair?” Harry asked.

“I plan, Mr. Potter, to put a much more romantic spin on it and sacrifice myself as the reason why they kept it a secret.”


	14. Decisions and Dilemmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to pagan, who, despite having a frenetic personal life, still manages to beta and listen to my own dilemmas regarding this story.

Hermione couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her mouth as she looked across at the supremely confident Malfoy elder. 

“I’m sorry, what?!” she asked in disbelief.

“I want you and Draco to pretend that you’ve been having a secret, romantic love affair but that I refused to countenance his divorce from my pureblood daughter-in-law so Draco could swap her for a Muggle-born.”

She had to give Lucius some credit. He’d thought of a decent lie to tell the public but there was no way she was going to play along.

“Whilst I appreciate the thought you’ve obviously put into this, Mr. Malfoy, I will not feature as someone who would have an affair with a married man.”

“I would like you to think this through, Ms. Granger. It’s an explanation the public will buy. They’ll lap it up like some kind of poorly written romantic melodrama and it’s an opportunity for you and Draco to come out as maligned lovers. I’m more than happy to feature as the villain.”

Hermione caught Harry taking his glasses off out of the corner of her eye and cleaning them on a fold of his work robes. She could tell that he was as taken aback as she was. 

“You know what the public will say, don’t you, Lucius,” Harry said. “They’ll claim that your determined efforts to rehabilitate your family was nothing more than a show.”

A small smile played around the older Malfoy’s mouth. “It’s nothing that they haven’t already been thinking. Not many people are willing to believe that my thoughts on blood purity have changed. Perhaps not even you, Mr. Potter.”

Harry gave a small nod in acknowledgement of that. It was true that Hermione had held many a conversation with both Harry and Ron about how adept Lucius Malfoy was at squirming his way out of any consequences for his previous actions. But now wasn’t the time to be dissecting whether that was true or not. However, she did note that Lucius wasn’t denying it, but neither did he confirm those suspicions.

Instead, she turned towards Malfoy. “Are you really going to sit there and be happy to feature as so spineless that you can’t stand up to your father at the age of 29?”

He shot her a glare. “Granger, what you have never understood are the dynamics of a pureblood family. It would not be considered strange for me to bow to my father’s wishes in the choice of my wife. He is the head of the family and, as such, his opinion holds much sway.”

She huffed and folded her arms. “Well, I won’t play along with such a ridiculous charade. I think you’ll find that the truth will serve us a whole lot better.”

“Are you sure, Ms. Granger? Do you think the public wants to believe something as mundane as an accident in a clinic’s laboratory has caused you to become pregnant with my son’s child?”

“As far as I’m concerned, there is no need for anyone but our immediate circle to be even aware that I’m pregnant, much less with Malfoy’s baby.”

“The truth will come at some point, especially when you start to show. It won’t take long for people to start gossiping about the origins of the pregnancy.”

Hermione recognised this as the truth. “All the more need to scotch the rumours now. I’ll write a letter to _Witch Weekly_ complaining of their inaccurate reporting and explain that Malfoy and I were just meeting to discuss business.”

“And what business would that be?” Lucius asked.

“I don’t know; it can’t be that hard to think of something.”

Malfoy snorted. “Granger, have we any need to meet at all in the last twelve or so years? It’s going to look strange if we suddenly claim to be working together now.”

Narcissa, who’d been sitting in silence until then, spoke up. “This is a very distasteful situation, Ms. Granger, and whilst I appreciate your concerns, I do believe my husband has hit upon the one thing that would serve us well.”

Hermione turned to look at the Malfoy matriarch. She was surprised to see some sympathy in Narcissa’s eyes. It made her swallow the rather acerbic retort she was about to make and soften her reply a little. “Be that as it may, I’d rather present a more truthful portrait.”

Lucius gave a resigned smile. “I had hoped to convince you, Ms. Granger, but I respect your decision. Draco, see our guests out, please.”

Both Hermione and Harry rose and followed Malfoy towards the door. Hermione turned as she filed out of the door last. Her eyebrows rose a little as she saw Lucius let his regal posture go and slump slightly sideways onto the chaise longue, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown of pain. 

There was silence as the three former school colleagues made their way back to the travel room. This time, Hermione was deep in thought with no regard to her surroundings. It was obvious that there was something wrong with Lucius Malfoy. He’d been admitted to St. Mungo’s yesterday and whilst he had given an aura of wellbeing during their conversation, it seemed to be a façade. Maybe this was why he was so keen to acknowledge a half-blood heir. 

Once they’d made it down to the travel room, Harry ushered Hermione towards the Floo powder. 

“One minute, Harry. You go first. There are a few things I want to talk to Malfoy about.”

Harry gave her a searching look but nodded his head and with a brief grunt of acknowledgement towards Malfoy, threw a handful of powder into the fireplace and disappeared in a flash of emerald green flames. 

She turned back towards the blond who was looking at her with interest on his face.

“If we’re going to weather this storm, Malfoy, then we need to start being more open with each other. We’ve committed to having a relationship of sorts for the sake of our child, so I don’t appreciate being continually kept in the dark about important things in your life.”

He bowed his head as if thinking about his response. The silence dragged on as he continued to contemplate the floor. Just as she was about to verbally nudge him, irritated by his silence, he raised his head and looked her straight in the eye.

“Okay, I’ll give it a go.”

“What does ‘give it a go’ mean exactly?” she asked, annoyance colouring her tone.

“Precisely that,” he said with a huff, before swinging away from her and pacing up and down the small room. “Look, I’m not good with this. I don’t trust easily and I don’t share my personal information with people I don’t trust.”

“That’s all well and good but this is hardly a normal situation. I get that you don’t necessarily want me to know the ins and outs of your life — I feel completely the same — but we don’t have much choice. Your ex-wife didn’t just target you, she targeted me also.”

“I doubt Astoria gave you much of a thought. This was always about hitting me where it would hurt the most – my family.”

“But the fact is, I was pulled into the crossfire, too. This is having as much a negative impact on me as it is you. That’s why I need you to start being honest with me. Concealing your marital problems and then not telling me you got divorced last week is not on.”

He sighed. “Okay, I’ll be more honest with you in future.”

“And answer my questions,” she interrupted.

He scowled at her. “Do you know how nosy your questions are?”

“Malfoy, will you or will you not tell me what I need to know?”

“Okay, I’ll keep you informed. But I’m not committing to answering all your questions. The ones that directly affect you are fine but otherwise, you don’t need to know.”

“That’s all I ask for.”

“Oh, I very much doubt that,” he muttered.

Hermione scowled but didn’t bother to pull him up on it. She’d got more than she thought she would out of this conversation. She walked towards the fireplace and picked up a handful of Floo Powder, was about to throw it into the flames when she hesitated and turned to face Malfoy once more.

“Is you father okay? I heard he was in St. Mungo’s yesterday.”

“Now that, Granger, falls under no concern of yours.”

She pursed her lips in annoyance at his reply. “That’s hardly adhering to our new honest-with-each-other policy,” she remarked.

He glared at her mutinously but appeared to think better about answering her. “He’s currently undergoing investigation for an unknown illness. Yesterday’s little expose caused him to convulse.”

“He has a mystery illness with convulsions?”

Malfoy just nodded.

“What are St. Mungo’s suggesting for treatment?”

“Several things – some of them contradictory. They don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Last time I checked, you worked for the Ministry, not as a Healer. What exactly do you think you can do to help?”

She shrugged, recognising the truth of his words, even if they were laced with biting sarcasm. “If you need to talk or anything-”she offered before trailing off.

“Yeah, great, thanks for that, Granger. I’ll be sure to come to you if I need to unburden my emotions, rather than to my close friends. I bet your two friends would love to hear all about Lucius Malfoy and his illness.”

She almost rose to his defensive tone before realising that he was just hitting out because he was probably upset and a little scared. She moved towards him and put her hand lightly on his arm. “I mean it, Malfoy; if you need to talk, you can always come to me.”

He looked pointedly at her hand before shrugging it off. “Won’t Potter be wondering where you are? If you stay any longer, he’ll probably be back with the cavalry in case I’ve decided to kidnap and hold you hostage until the baby’s born.”

She smiled a little at that. Harry would be getting worried the longer she stayed here to talk without him.

“Er… do you want me to send you a copy of the letter I plan on writing to the Editor of _Witch Weekly_?”

“Sure, and if you’re going to go down this ridiculous route of pretending we met to discuss business, then I suggest you say that I was sounding you out for a potential place on the Hogwarts School Board of Governors. That school is about the only thing we have in common.”

She nodded. It was a good idea. Something that people might buy. For all her scotching of Lucius’ plan, she was well aware that the version of the truth she wanted to put out there was boring and therefore unpalatable for the masses who sought salacious gossip.

“Well, I’ll see you around, Malfoy.”

“Yes… and, Granger, I am sorry that I didn’t tell you about my divorce. I guess I’m a little defensive when it comes to my privacy.”

Hermione smiled a little tentatively at him, before flinging the powder into the fireplace and disappearing.

\--------

That following Sunday found Draco ensconced at his desk. It was hard to believe that just one week ago he’d been flying carefree and happy over the grounds. All his positivity regarding the future had drained away in the rather trying week he’d experienced.

The media furore surrounding him and Granger hadn’t settled. Instead, the _Daily Prophet_ had gotten in on the act, publishing wildly speculative articles about the affair. His negative image was so bad that a couple of business associates distanced themselves from him, causing some important deals to collapse. 

He now held the latest issue of _Witch Weekly_ in his hands. Rita Skeeter was really going to town. He had to admit that he was getting off lightly compared to Granger. He wasn’t sure just what the former Gryffindor had done for Skeeter to hate her that much, but vitriol was pouring from the journalist’s quill. Along with several scorching articles, there were the inevitable photos of both him and Granger looking harassed that had been snapped by the incessant photographers that camped out for them to appear in any of the busy wizarding public places. 

Granger’s letter had been published as well. She’d done well to present a plausible alternative to their situation but the response of the editor printed below wasn’t positive. Ethel Scuttlebutt made it perfectly clear that she didn’t believe a word of Granger’s explanation and that she didn’t think her readers should either. Sadly, despite the bushy-haired witch being a well-respected war hero, Draco knew readers would look to follow the editor’s lead.  
There was a quiet knock on his study door and his mother entered softly. 

“What’s wrong, Mother?” he asked. “Is Father okay?”

“Yes, he’s fine. He took a short walk in the rose garden and is now resting upstairs.”

Draco smiled. It was good that his father was up and about. However, this last attack seemed to have hit him harder than any of the previous ones. He now needed the support of his decorative cane to walk. The signs weren’t particularly encouraging. The Healers were getting nowhere and Draco was beginning to feel as if he was going to lose his father.

“It’s regarding Ms. Granger that I’ve come to talk to you.”

He ran a hand over his forehead. There were permanent furrows etched there right now. “What about her?”

“I really think the pair of you need to think again about following your father’s advice.”

“How is pretending to have some grand romance going to help our situation?”

“It would bring the public on your side. Stories of star-crossed lovers defeating the odds and breaking down familial prejudice are always popular.”

“But we’d still feature as an adulterous couple and Astoria would be still be the wronged woman.”

“Yes, but with the right PR, we could make this work for us. And think about it; you could then potentially have everything you want in your grasp. The baby growing up here as a Malfoy.”

Draco frowned. “Why would this bring about that scenario?”

“Your father has thought this through. He reckons that if you and Granger play at being a couple for the press, you could announce an engagement in a couple of months. Play the ecstatic parents-to-be and get married before the baby is born.”

He pushed away from his desk with a groan and strode over to the window, looking out at the view unseeingly. “I thought you wanted me to be happy?”

“I do, Draco, I do!”

“Then why are you trying to push me into another unhappy marriage? Because that’s what this would be. Granger would hate me for manipulating her into it and, if I marry again, then I want it to be for love.”

“You’ll feel differently once this baby is born.”

“What do you mean?”

“You won’t want to give the baby up. You’ll want to have it living under your roof where you can have access whenever you want and the Granger girl will be the same. Neither of you will want to pass the baby to and fro for access visits. And I’m telling you, Draco, you’ll be the loser in the long run. The way the law is going, she’ll get more rights than you.”

He gripped the windowsill so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I know this, but what choice do I have?”

“Follow your father’s plan; sweet-talk Granger into agreeing and you’ll have all you want.”

Draco scoffed. “It’s not as easy that. I think I know the woman better than either you or Father, and she’s not one to be persuaded into anything – let alone a plan like this. Instead, if I look to tread this path, I’ll push her away even more and before you know it, she’ll make sure I have no access to the child.”

“Just give it a go. Have you also thought about the stigma the child will face being born out of wedlock?”

He had thought about this; in fact, he’d given it a lot of thought. Unmarried parents were a rarity in the wizarding world. Indeed, he’d never even met someone whose parents hadn’t been married when they’d been conceived. They might have divorced later – but even that was rare. He knew this was increasingly normal amongst Muggles, but the magical community was more conservative. Family values were considered key to their survival.

He ran a distracted hand through his hair before turning back to face his mother. “I know this but I’ll not push for a marriage for marriage sake. You don’t know Granger, Mother, if you think this kind of argument will appeal to her. If she even suspected me of thinking about doing such a thing, she’d rescind all her agreements to contact and we’d be back to the prospect of slugging it out through the courts – which is even less desirable with this scandal.”

His mother sighed and sank gracefully into one of the sofa’s he’d placed in his study, right in front of the fireplace. “I’m worried, Draco, about what’s going to happen to this family. Your father-”, she trailed off, unable to continue that line of thinking.

“He’s going to be alright. Have faith in the Healers, Mum, they’ll find a cure.”

“I’m trying to remain positive but I’m beginning to lose hope. He’s so fragile after this last attack. I think hiding it from us has made him even weaker now. Instead of taking the time to recuperate before, he was pushing himself to get back on his feet and appear normal.”

Pain ripped through him as he saw a tear spill over his mother’s eye and trickle down her cheek. He didn’t want to have to face the truth of the situation facing him. His father was dying and his mother was falling apart.

“Please don’t cry. He’ll pull through this. Nothing defeats Lucius Malfoy.”

“You can’t cheat death, darling.”

“Hush, he’s not going to die,” he objected before wrapping his arms around his mother and pulling her in tight for a hug.

Narcissa gave in to the tears for a little while before composing herself and resting her head on his shoulder.

“I’m afraid. I’ve had your father by my side for such a long time that I won’t know what to do if he’s no longer there. And this baby means so much to him. If you could just bring Granger and the child into the family, I know he’d feel at ease, which could help his illness.”

Internally, Draco felt like smashing something. He knew his mother was not deliberately intending to manipulate him, but that was what she was doing. He didn’t want to feel that he was letting his father down but at the same time, he knew that pushing Granger for some kind of sham relationship would be the worst thing for them all.

“Just let me deal with this, Mother. Pushing for a false marriage now would do nothing but damage any trust Granger and I are building between us.”

She kissed his cheek and gave him a wan smile. “All I ask is that you think about it. Worrying about this is doing your father no good at all.”

\---------

Hermione rested her forehead against her kitchen table. It was exactly as the Malfoys had predicted: _Witch Weekly_ wasn’t interested in anything that wasn’t sordid gossip. She had survived the rest of the past week, with all its howlers, whispered words, and dirty looks buoyed up by the thought that those judging her would soon be eating their words. But it hadn’t worked out that way and now the adrenaline disappeared, leaving her feeling drained and tired.

She closed her eyes and gave in to her feelings of despair for a brief moment but then she got up and out of her chair once more. She wasn’t going to give these people the satisfaction of knowing that they had worn her down. There was no way that Hermione Granger was going to hole up in her house, too afraid to show her face in public.   
No, she was going to treat this as any normal Sunday. She was going to visit Diagon Alley to stock up on those potion ingredients she was running low on, buy a gift for James Potter’s birthday, which was coming up, and then go to the Burrow for Sunday lunch. She was not going to hide away, embarrassed by something that she hadn’t even done.

Hermione’s bravado lasted all from the Leaky Cauldron to Slug and Jiggers Apothecary and then to Babbitty Rabbitty’s Toy Shop. It was here that she regretted coming. She was looking at Kidz Quidz, a Quidditch range of children’s toys, weighing up the delight Harry would have in the children’s Snitch or Ginny’s fury at the miniature Beaters Bat. James was a force of nature like his twin uncles had been, and Hermione would bet her house on the fact that he was going to be a Beater rather than a Seeker like his father, or a Chaser like his mother or paternal granddad. 

The furious whispering from behind her drew her attention away from the difficult decision and she turned to the cause of all the noise. Three women, obviously friends, stood not far from her and were looking her up and down in distaste. They were muttering to each other, which tailed off as she faced them.

Hermione was never one to shy away from confrontation and she wasn’t about to start now. 

“Is there something I can help you with?” she asked in a polite but steely tone.

The women looked taken aback, almost as if they’d expected her to flee the shop in face of their disapproval.

The boldest sniffed haughtily. “It’s a disgrace seeing someone like _you_ in a family shop.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Shouldn’t home wreckers like you be somewhere altogether different, like Fun and Frolics? Somewhere that caters for your kind of people.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose at the mention of the racy lingerie shop. It specialised in the sexiest, most outrageous underwear… well, scraps of lace really. She’d only been in there once, just before Ginny’s wedding, and she’d actually blushed at some of the garments Ginny had picked out to try on. And it wasn’t as if _she_ was a prude.

At any other time, she would’ve been amused at the idea that she should be shopping there, but not this week and after all the gossiping she’d had to encounter.

“How dare you? How _dare_ you and your interfering cronies over there think that you know anything about me or which shops I should be welcome in?”

There were outraged gasps from the other women. Again, the bold one answered for the group.

“Why, you shameless hussy! How can you stand there and talk to decent folk in that way.”

“Oh, so you’re calling yourself decent? I think I prefer nosy old crones.”

The old battle-axe stalked up to Hermione and grabbed her arm in a crushing grip. “Men stealers are not welcome here and I’m more than happy to go and let the Manager know that it’s your custom or ours.”

Not appreciating the constraint on her liberty, Hermione withdrew her wand, causing the irritating busybody to halt.   
There was an amused laugh to the side of them, in the midst of the small group of people who’d stopped to watch. 

“I would take my hand off her if I was you. I’ve been at the wrong end of that wand far too many times,” a voice Hermione recognised all too well drawled.

The arguing group all turned to look at the sleek image that was Pansy Parkinson. 

“What business is this of yours?” the interfering hag asked.

“It’s not really. But consider the warning my good deed for the day. Unless, of course, you enjoy visits to St. Mungo’s. Granger really is a dab hand at hexes.”

The mean old bag looked down at Hermione’s brandished wand with the sort of hesitancy that came with second thoughts. She took advantage of this momentary pause to pull her arm out of the witch’s grasp before putting the mini-Beater’s Bat back onto the shelf and sticking her nose in the air haughtily.

“I would say it’s been a pleasure to make your acquaintance but that would be a lie,” she said snootily. “Maybe you should look beyond salacious gossip before accosting perfectly innocent people next time, you judgmental cow.”

Hermione didn’t bother to wait around to see if hag and her cronies had any reply but turned and walked out of the shop with as much dignity as she could muster. The small crowd that had gathered to watch the confrontation didn’t help. Nor were the feelings of gratitude she was currently feeling towards Pansy bloody Parkinson. She did not appreciate being put in this situation and if she’d come across Malfoy at this point, she probably would have been happy to instigate a blazing row with him.

Her pent-up feelings caused her to stride angrily down Diagon Alley, glaring at anyone who happened to look her way.

“Granger, you might want to wait up,” Parkinson called behind her. 

Hermione stopped and took a deep breath before turning around. 

“What do you want, Parkinson?”

“Well, a thank you would be nice.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose but the throwaway line did the impossible and diffused her temper.

“I had it under control, but thanks.”

“Of course you did,” the former Slytherin replied with a hint of sarcasm. “But whilst it was nice to get the thank you, I had an ulterior motive to chasing after you. Have you got a spare half an hour?”

“Why?”

“I want to talk to you.”

“What do we have to talk about?”

“Oh, I don’t know. A certain blond and the baby the pair of you share.”

Hermione quickly shushed her and looked around to see if anyone had heard what Parkinson had said. The last thing she needed was for her pregnancy to be breaking news on the front page of the Daily Prophet tomorrow.  
“I’m expected at the Burrow in about an hour, but I guess that gives me time for a drink. But if we’re going to be discussing that particular topic, then we do it in Muggle London.”

Parkinson shrugged. “It’s all the same to me,” she said. “Lead on, I’ll follow.”


	15. Food for Thought

Pansy couldn’t help the amused laugh that escaped as she took in Granger’s amazed expression. She proceeded to order a cup of coffee for herself and a hot chocolate for the pregnant witch.

“It’s not that surprising, Granger. Times change and people change with them.”

“I guess. It’s still weird to think that you carry Muggle money around with you and interact so easily outside the wizarding world now.”

“It was anything but easy to begin with. But when you have your every action being scrutinised, it’s amazing how quickly you adapt to the new ways.”

“It’s good to know that there have been changes.”

“More than you are probably aware of. It’s hard to cling to the old ways when they have been defeated so comprehensively, and when you’ve been exposed to how flawed they were in the first place.”

“So you don’t think blood purity is so important anymore?”

“Yes and no. I’m proud to be a pureblood.” Pansy could see that Hermione was antsy with that statement. “Hang on, let me explain before you start to jump down my throat. There is nothing wrong with being proud of your heritage or of the fact that you come from a long line of witches and wizards. The problem comes when you start to try to dictate who is allowed access to magic and who isn’t. Or claim that pureblood lines have to remain pure.”

“I think I have a problem with the terminology, too. What exactly is ‘pure’ and how come I’m excluded from being so?”

Pansy shrugged. “You can’t win them all. It’s how we’ve been described for centuries. But yes, you have a point. But you try getting a new name to stick. I bet even your Weasley friends call themselves purebloods and describe others as Muggle-born or half-blood, whether they mean it in a good way or not.”

From the look on Granger’s face, Pansy knew she was right. 

“But I really didn’t ask for your company to discuss the rights or wrongs of labelling.”

The bushy haired witch cracked a smile. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Draco.”

“What about him?”

“I wanted to ask you to go easy on him. He’s having a hard time of it at the moment.”

Granger snorted.

“Okay, maybe not as hard a time as you in the press. But things aren’t easy for him. Astoria decided to create a scandal at the worst possible time.”

“Are you alluding to Lucius and his mystery illness?”

Pansy was surprised. With how closed-mouthed Draco was, despite his recent confidences, she really didn’t think he would’ve told Granger about his father’s illness. It cut close to the bone and the things that affected him the most were the ones he kept closest to the chest.

“It appears it my turn to surprise you,” Granger said. “Lucius wanted to meet with me after the scandal broke. I could tell that all wasn’t well with him and taxed Malfoy about it.”

“And he told you?”

“He didn’t have much choice, considering we’d just made a pact to be more honest with each other. I didn’t appreciate finding out about his marital problems from Bulstrode or that he’d divorced _after_ his ex-wife decided to be a vindictive cow and publish lies about me in the media.”

Pansy snorted. This was why she was fast coming to the conclusion that Hermione Granger would suit Draco perfectly. She’d managed in one conversation to do what Pansy had never managed to do in a friendship that spanned a lifetime.

“Well done on getting him to even admit it. He only told Millie and me about his problems with Astoria a few weeks ago, and I only found out about Lucius last week.”

“Is Lucius’ illness really as hopeless as it seems?” 

“Adrian was over at the hospital the other day. The Spell Damage Healers called him in to give a presentation on some of the new potions available on the market. They seemed particularly interested in experimental ones. It didn’t take him long to put two and two together and realise that they are still at a loss on how to treat Lucius.”

“So they don’t have a clue, basically.”

Pansy shook her head sadly. “It appears so. Adrian did some delicate prying. The little information they gave him – mentioning no names of course – didn’t sound too promising.”

The bushy-haired witch looked down into her drink. “It’s strange. There is no love lost between Lucius and I, and I doubt I’ll ever forgive him for his actions whilst we were at school, but he is still the grandfather to my unborn child. And I would hate for my baby not to have all its grandparents around.”

“Personally, I can’t imagine the wizarding world without Lucius. He’s always been such a presence,” she said, ignoring Granger’s grimace. “Look, this is the main reason I wanted to have this conversation with you. Draco will be devastated if his father is no longer there. If he’s not going to fall to pieces then he’s going to need to feel that he has something important relying on him.”

“But surely his mother-”

“He’ll pull it together for Narcissa, without a doubt. But that’s not what I’m talking about. He’ll need someone there for _him_. Someone who’ll give him reason not to withdraw behind the wall he keeps up. Basically, he’s going to need you and baby.”

Granger shook her head. “Uh… Parkinson, that’s going beyond what Malfoy and I have agreed. Yes, we’ll have this baby in common but that’s about it.”

“And I’m asking you to think beyond that. I’m asking you to try and be his friend. If the Healers don’t make Lucius better then you can give him something the rest of us won’t be able to.”

“I think you’re looking too much into this.”

“Look, you’re going to share a bond that is that baby. It’s going to mean you have to work together and compromise on all sorts of complicated issues. But, Granger, I’m saying it could be more than that. He’s already told you things in a short space of time that he’s kept hidden from his lifelong friends.”

“That’s because he’s had to be more open for the sake of the-”

“Child,” Pansy finished for her. “Exactly my point, Granger. I’m not asking you to be his new best friend. He’s got two of those already. I’m asking you to be that person who is outside of his usual life. Someone he can turn to and just vent.”

“This is Malfoy – I don’t think he does venting.”

Pansy cracked a small smile. “No, he doesn’t. He bottles it all up but, for some reason, you’ve breached his emotional dam before – albeit unintentionally. Imagine what you could do if you put your mind to it.”

“I don’t know. You’re asking quite a lot of me.”

“No, it just appears that way. Don’t you want to have a good relationship with him for the sake of your child?”

“Well, yes, but it’s more complicated than that.”

“Only if you make it.”

“That’s such a Slytherin answer.”

“Yes, and Draco is a former Slytherin. I’m not being deliberately obtuse. I understand your reservations. I just don’t think they are important. This is something that would benefit the pair of you and the baby. Give it a go, Granger. That’s all I’m asking.”

And with that, Pansy drained the last of her coffee and stood up. “This has been remarkably civil,” she said with a smile.

“At least you’re not haranguing me for being a home wrecker.”

She chuckled. “There was nothing to wreck. However, Draco is definitely ripe for the picking if you feel like a spot of, how did that old bag put it? Man stealing.”

“Ha bloody ha!”

“Think about it,” she said with a wink before leaving Granger at the table staring after her with a shocked expression.

Pansy gave into the jaunty smile she’d been desperate to release during that whole conversation once she was back on Charing Cross Road. Adrian might be right in saying that Draco needed to realise any potential feelings for Granger on his own but that didn’t mean she couldn’t give the bushy-haired witch a better understanding of Draco’s personality – or plant some ideas in her head about just what could happen between them.

\---------

Hermione was left sitting in the café in shock. Had Parkinson just suggested what she thought she had? There was no way anything of _that_ sort was happening. Surely it was obvious to anyone who’d attended Hogwarts that she and Malfoy were about as incompatible as any two people could be.

She caught sight of the clock on the café wall and swore under her breath. She was running late for the Weasley Sunday Lunch.

In her haste to get to the Burrow on time, Hermione didn’t have time to process the looks or comments that came her way as she dashed into the Leaky Cauldron and used the Floo Network to get to Ottery St. Catchpole 

She stumbled out of the fireplace at the Burrow just as everyone was sitting down around the table.

“Hermione! There you are. We were wondering where you had got to,” Molly said, coming over and giving her a hug.

“Sorry, I got delayed at Diagon Alley.”

Harry shot her a concerned look. “You didn’t have any trouble did you?”

“A bit. Some nosy old biddy thought it was her place to try to chuck me out of Babbity Rabbity’s.”

“What!?” Ron asked, outraged.

“Pansy Parkinson was there and she diffused the situation before I could hex anyone.”

“Parkinson?!” Ron said in disbelief.

“I know. It was odd but I’m late because she wanted to have coffee with me afterwards.”

There was no outburst from Ron this time, just a baffled look on his face. 

“What did she want to talk about? Ginny asked.

“I think mainly to tell me not to give Malfoy a hard time.”

“I take it either he or Lucius put her up to it?” Harry speculated and there were instant scowls on the face of the Weasley men.

There were no secrets between Hermione and the Weasley family – they were like incredibly close cousins and she’d had no compunction in telling them all about Lucius’ idea. The Weasley males had instantly become over-protective. Hermione was considered the same as Ginny – an honorary little sister who needed to be guarded from predatory or manipulative men like the Malfoys. She’d rolled her eyes and informed them that she was more than capable of looking after herself, which had put an end to the rampant testosterone but the mutterings had continued about what sneaky plan Lucius and his spawn were plotting. 

She shrugged. “I doubt it. But even if Parkinson was, it wouldn’t make me anymore positive towards the plan. I’ve had a rotten week but that hasn’t meant I’m willing to sacrifice my integrity and attempt to play happy families with Draco Malfoy.”

“That’s right, Hermione, you tell ‘em!” Ron said enthusiastically albeit it a little incoherently as his mouth was full of roast potatoes. 

Deciding that it was time for the conversation to finish, she picked up her knife and fork and cut into the delicious looking slice of roast beef on her plate.

\-----------

Early evening found Hermione sitting on one of the old deckchairs out in the Burrow’s garden, clutching a mug of tea. It had been a glorious summer day and the beautiful greens of Devon’s countryside had managed to soothe away her frazzled feelings earlier. It was at times like this that she really appreciated being a witch. Being able to do her shopping in Diagon Alley in the heart of London in the morning to then being able to spend an afternoon relaxing in Devon, something that would normally be a five hour journey from London in the car.

The soft padding of bare feet drew Hermione’s attention away from the soft evening sunshine and she turned her head to smile at Luna, who proceeded to sit cross legged on the deckchair next to Hermione’s.

“Devon’s always been my favourite county,” Hermione said. “I used to come here as a child with my parents. We’d hire a holiday cottage in Dartmoor and spend our time hiking and climbing the Tors. Those holidays are some of my most treasured memories. I still have a jar of marbles I bought aged eight at the House of Marbles in Bovey Tracey.”

Luna smiled. “Dartmoor is a special place. No wonder it called to you. My mother would take me there to wander the many old stone circles. There is a lot of latent magic in there.”

“Really?” Hermione asked. “I’ve never really thought about it but the Merrivale stones and circle is where I had my first experience of magic. A sheep had become stuck in a one of the large cysts. The capstone had been split in half. It was scared and bleating non-stop. My parents were discussing going to one of the farmsteads to let them know when I managed to levitate it out of the hole. I was six at the time and my parents were baffled as to what had happened. They managed to convince themselves that I’d somehow shown the sheep a way out.”

Luna laughed softly and Hermione smiled, thinking back on her childhood. It seemed so far away now. The hardest thing she’d found in becoming a witch was the inevitable distance it put between her and her Muggle family. There was a natural barrier placed between them as they couldn’t understand her life in a way they would’ve been able to have done had she been a teacher or a doctor. 

The circumstances surrounding her pregnancy hadn’t done their relationship any favours either. Her mother couldn’t understand why she’d even want to go down that route when she had plenty of good years ahead of her. Her father hadn’t understood why a Muggle clinic wouldn’t have been a better option. They hadn’t been too impressed by the fact that Malfoy was the father either. They knew all about his family’s blood prejudices having witnessed Lucius’ and Arthur’s argument in Flourish and Blotts in the summer before her second year at Hogwarts. She’d also come home and told them various things about Draco and his vile personality during her time at school.

“Is there anything you want to talk about, Hermione?” Luna asked, pulling her from her rather maudlin thoughts. “I felt that you didn’t tell us everything at lunch earlier.”

It was the opening that Hermione hadn’t realised she’d been waiting for and with the perfect person. Whilst she might always be closer to Harry, Ron and the rest of the Weasleys, Luna offered a different kind of friendship. One that was a lot less conventional but also less judgemental. Luna wasn’t prone to anger but instead held a calm, reflective personality that she’d always been slightly jealous of. Her crazy ideas masked the fact that Luna was very at home in her own skin. She didn’t fear the mockery of others. Neither did she seem to suffer from the self-doubt that could sometimes cripple Hermione, who appeared so self-assured on the surface.

“Do you think I made a mistake in rejecting Lucius’ proposition?” she blurted out, not bothering to put a gloss on the words.

Luna looked at her intently. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, it’s just how hard this is all becoming. I really thought I’d have a shot at squashing the rumours with my censored version of the truth but it doesn’t appear to be dying down at all.”

“But would a pretend relationship with Draco make any of this easier?”

Hermione shrugged. She really didn’t know but she wasn’t sure how much more she could take of the gossip.  
“Maybe it would make it more palatable Lucius suggested,” she said. 

Luna tilted her head and gnawed at her lip. “I think you did the right thing. I’m not sure anything good would come out of you and Draco pretending to me be romantically involved. I can see the temptation, but I doubt either of you would be able to keep up the pretence necessary to pull something like this off.”

She smiled gratefully at her blonde friend. She needed the calm reassurance that she had made the right decision. She turned her attention away from the former Ravenclaw and stared once more at the dappled sunlight.

“Besides, I think you’d have more success in creating a lasting relationship if you just allowed yourselves to trust each other.”

That had pulled her out of her contemplation of nature. “What?!” she asked, her head slewing around to face Luna once more, shock written all over her face.

Luna said nothing instead settling to stare at her with a playful smile on her lips.

“Why do people keep saying things like that to me?” Hermione asked.

“Oh? So I’m not the first person to mention it?”

“Parkinson made a flippant comment about Malfoy being ripe for the picking if I fancied it.”

Luna said nothing but took a sip of her tea. Hermione wasn’t fooled. She could tell that her friend had observations to make.

“What, Luna? Please, just spit it out.”

“I’m not sure you’re ready to hear it.”

“Give me a go. I’m a big girl.”

“Well, it’s just that I’ve noticed how lonely both you and Draco are.”

Hermione scowled. “I’m not lonely.”

“Not in all senses, no. You have a great circle of friends, but you’ve never settled completely into a relationship. And, to be honest, from the things you’ve let slip, I think things between yourself and your parents could be a lot better.”

She looked down into her mug. Somehow, Luna always managed to get to the heart of the matter. She’d done so in their schooldays with Harry and she was proving just as wise with her situation now. 

“I sometimes think this is the curse of the Muggle-born. To not truly belong anywhere.”

“You belong in this world, Hermione. I can’t speak about the Muggle world, but you definitely belong here.”

Hermione smiled warmly at the former Ravenclaw. “Thank you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight, but I feel so maudlin.”

“You’re going through a tough time. Pregnancy is never easy on the emotions and to top it all off, you have lies being printed about you in the media and strangers believing this gives them the right to make judgements about you.”

“And it doesn’t help with friends and former enemies seem to think I should be shacking up with ex-Death Eaters,” she said slyly.

Luna laughed. “It was just an observation on mine and Pansy’s behalf. I want to see you happy and it appears she wants the same for her friend.”

“I doubt being romantically involved with Draco Malfoy would make me happy and vice versa.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I already told you that he looked happier in your company than I’ve ever seen him with Astoria.”

“And just how many times have you seen him with Astoria?”

“Just here and there but I’m not as hostile as you, Ron, and Harry. I’ve had conversations with him and even an apology for my imprisonment at Malfoy Manor during the war.”

Hermione stared at her friend, open mouthed in shock.

“He really isn’t as bad as the three of you make out. He’s done a lot of growing up and is not the same arrogant boy he was at school.”

“Well, that’s something at least.”

“Open your mind a little, Hermione. You might find that he surprises you,” Luna said, patting her hand before standing up and walking back into the Burrow.

Hermione continued to sit in the deckchair. She’d been given a lot of food for thought today. Maybe it was time she stopped thinking so much about the past and concentrated on the future. After all, Malfoy was going to be a part of it for a very long time, thanks to the child they shared.

\-----------

Draco wandered into the large kitchen that took up the back of Malfoy Manor. It was a relic of the Manor’s previous days with a large open fire that had once been used to spit-roast meat and many work surfaces with a long wooden table in the middle. There were larders and storage cupboards leading off from various points of the centre room and its huge windows overlooked the kitchen garden, where vegetables and herbs grew.

Usually, it was bustling with the team of house-elves that ran the kitchen and its gardens but at this time of night it was quiet. It was his favourite time to come, raid the larder, make a cup of tea, and just sit on the bench that ran along one side of the table. He sat there now, munching his way through the large slice of fruit cake he’d just cut. It was a good place to gather his thoughts.

He’d been over at Millie’s house. She’d held a dinner party to introduce them all to the new Healer she’d started dating. Draco vaguely remembered him from Hogwarts. He’d been five years ahead of them and in Ravenclaw, and hadn’t ranked hugely on Draco’s scale of interest. But he was a nice bloke and he seemed to treat Millie well. Pansy had gushed over how gorgeous he was, with his luxurious brown hair and piercing blue eyes. Which had made Draco and Adrian roll their eyes but Millie had just blushed.

The sound of soft footfalls made him turn away from the darkened windows and face the door. His mother came in quietly and stopped in surprise when she saw her son already seated at the large table. 

“Draco! When did you get home?”

“About twenty minutes ago.”

“Didn’t Millie feed you enough?” she asked, with a raised eyebrow.

He looked down at the cake and smiled in amusement. “She did. I’m just eating for something to do.”

“Is her beau nice?”

“He seems pleasant enough and fairly smitten with Millie.”

“That’s good. She needs that after how Ludovic treated her.”

Draco scowled at the mention of Millie’s ex-fiancé, who’d turned out to be a cheating scumbag. “Yeah, well, if he treats her anywhere near that badly, then Adrian and I will have something to say about it.”

Narcissa sat next to her son with a glass of water.

“Do you want me to make you a cup of tea?” Draco asked.

“No, it will only keep me awake. But as you’re here, I want to run something past you.”

Draco mentally groaned. He felt that he really couldn’t take any more information at the moment. It had been bad enough when Pansy had pulled him aside at the dinner party to tell him that she’d had to intervene to stop Granger from hexing some hags who had been hassling her in Diagon Alley earlier. He didn’t want to feel bad for the situation he’d put the bushy-haired brunette in, but he couldn’t help it. If it wasn’t for his spiteful ex-wife, then the media and nosy members of the public wouldn’t be hounding her.

“There’s no need to look like that!” his mother said, a smile on her face. “It’s nothing bad. It’s about your birthday next weekend.”

With all the turmoil going on in his life at the moment, he’d completely forgotten that he was turning 30 next Saturday.

“What about it?”

“Well, I wanted to throw a small party for you.”

This time he did groan. “Mum! I really don’t think now is the time for a party.”

“Oh hush, Draco! It’s not every day that you turn 30.”

“There’s not much to celebrate. I’m 30, divorced, and have a test-tube baby with a woman who hates my guts.”

His mother looked disapprovingly at him. “It’s no wonder things are such a mess if you’re going to be so depressed about matters. You will have a small party, whether you like it or not.”

“Mother, I’m turning 30 not 5! I think I can decide what I want to do.”

“Tough because I’ve already sent out invites. I’ve invited the usual crowd but I was wondering if you wanted me to send an invite to Granger. I think she should be there.”

“Won’t that just cause more speculation?”

“It’s not as if the media will be there. Besides, people are going to have to get used to the idea of the pair of you being linked – even if you have spurned your father’s plan.”

“Do you really think now is the time?”

“There’s no such thing as a good time, Draco.”

He nodded his head in resignation. “Okay, send an invitation to Granger. You’d better send one to those two dopey friends of hers and their wives. I doubt she’ll want to attend without any moral support.”

Whilst his mother smiled happily at his thoughtful suggestion, he was already dreading how this birthday party would turn out.


	16. Two Steps Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So whilst I've just posted this on AO3, I've been writing and posting this story for over a year on other sites. My updates have slowed down significantly in the last 9 or so months and whilst I've started writing the next chapter, I'm only a paragraph in and have some fest commitments over the next few months, so I'm really not sure when the next update will be. So sorry!
> 
> Thanks, as always, to pagan for getting this back to me so quickly despite her hectic private life.

Hermione could feel the butterflies rushing around her stomach as she walked nervously into the antenatal clinic at St. Mungo’s to see the sonographer for her first scan. She’d been waiting for this moment since she’d found out that she was pregnant. It would be the first glimpse of her baby and to say that she was excited was an understatement. There was also a little bit of worry. The main purpose of this scan was to check if the baby was at high risk of Down’s Syndrome. The thought of there being anything wrong caused her some anxiety.

As did the prospect of Malfoy attending this appointment with her.

They were attending an appointment together as if they were any normal couple.

As she looked around, she saw that Malfoy was already there, eyeing the pregnancy literature on the walls uneasily. She couldn’t help the smile as she took in how out-of-place he looked. It probably didn’t help that the other man in the room was with a pregnant woman, whereas Malfoy sat there, conspicuous on his own.

Hermione thought she’d better go and put him out of his misery. He gave an audible sigh of relief as she slid into the seat next to him.

“Thank Salazar!” he said. “I was getting funny looks. I think that bloke over there thought I had some crazy pregnant lady fetish or something and was after his wife.”

A laugh escaped her at that. “Sorry, I got held up at the office. I was worried I was actually going to be late.”

It was the staring after she’d arrived that made the horrible idea dawn on her. She could kick herself from not thinking about this earlier. She looked around the small clinic room to see that the other couple waiting and the receptionist had their eyes glued on them almost as if they couldn’t believe what was in front of them.

“What are we doing?” she hissed at her blond companion.

“What?”

“This is the stupidest idea ever! We should’ve disguised you. With all the speculation about us – how could we just turn up at an antenatal clinic?”

Malfoy shrugged as this wasn’t a particularly new idea to him. “The news of your pregnancy was going to come out at some point.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve already thought that this was a possibility, haven’t you?”

“To be honest, Granger, I’m surprised that you didn’t. Even if the staff in the clinic are professional enough to keep their mouths shut, I doubt the couple over there will do the same.”

Hermione eyed them nervously. They were whispering to each other, which could be about anything, but they kept shooting little furtive glances towards her and Malfoy.

“They might not say anything,” she said, more in hope than expectation.

“Of course they will. I bet they’d get paid a decent amount of money for the information. Probably enough to set themselves up with a nice nursery.”

She groaned and put her head in her hands. “This is a nightmare!”

“Chin up, Granger, you’re increasing the entertainment value.”

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You think that if me being pregnant comes out in the media, I’ll go along with your dad’s crackpot idea,” she hissed fiercely.

There was silence for a few uncomfortable seconds before Malfoy gripped her arm tightly. “Now listen here, you annoying, paranoid woman, have I mentioned going along with my father’s plan to you at any time? Have I put any pressure on you? Or have I allowed you to respond to the media allegations the way you wanted to?”

The low, angry but measured tone used by Malfoy was more menacing than any bluster or shouting would’ve been. She felt a pang of regret at her wild accusations of a moment earlier. It was true; he hadn’t mentioned the plan once she’d rejected it. The fact was it had been playing on her mind and she’d lashed out, looking for an excuse because she was so unsure of what she should be doing. And the very real possibility that her pregnancy would be splashed over the newspapers tomorrow had caused her to be even more suspicious.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “I guess this, on top of the birthday party invite, just had my distrustful nature rising.”

“You could’ve turned the invite down. Not sent over your acceptance almost immediately,” Malfoy said, annoyance lacing his tone.

The guilt failed to abate as she took in his flushed cheeks and stormy eyes. Truth be told, she was surprised she had the ability to hurt him – but hurt he very obviously was.

“My first thought was that it was a gesture from your mother, and I didn’t think I should turn it down.”

His eyes met hers and the expression in them was a lot warmer. “It was a sort of peace offering from her. I’m pleased you were able to recognise that.”

She smiled back at him. “She’s going to be this baby’s grandmother. It would be awful if I were on terrible terms with her.”

His eyes crinkled beguilingly as a smile broke out on his face once more. The previous bad mood washed away and he reached out and touched her forearm hesitantly, almost as if the gentle touch was an alien concept to him. “She’ll appreciate that.”

Hermione knew she should probably look away and study the posters on the wall, but this warmer, more approachable Malfoy was intriguing and she couldn’t help but stare. Without the cold, shuttered facial expression, he was a lot more attractive and likeable. She found herself, for the first time since Sebastian Braun had broken the news of the sperm mix-up, feeling optimistic about the future. This was a Malfoy she could work, even possibly be friends with, which was incredible when you thought about the levels of distrust and hostility that had lain between them.

“Ms. Granger, the sonographer will see you now. Please proceed along the corridor to Room 2,” the receptionist called across the waiting room, destroying the moment completely.

Blood flooded into Hermione’s cheeks as she stood awkwardly and led Malfoy from the waiting room into the corridor.

They walked in silence down to Room 2, where Hermione knocked on the door. Her hand as she lowered it once more was trembling a little. This was it. The first sight she’d have of her baby. The sonographer called for them to enter and Hermione opened the door and went in, Malfoy close behind her.

The sonographer looked up as they came in, Hermione catching the brief hint of confusion as she saw who accompanied her, but the smile didn’t falter.

“Hello, Ms Granger and er… Mr Malfoy is it?”

“Yes,” Hermione answered.

“Okay, well, it’s good that you’re both here for the first scan. If you could please lie down on the bed over there, Ms Granger, and I’ll get everything set up.”

The sonographer bustled around as Hermione hauled herself up onto the bed, the paper towel crinkling as she shuffled to get comfortable.

“Great. Now, if you could lower your trousers there, we’ll get started.”

She opened the button on her jeans and pulled them to rest just below her stomach. The sonographer then pulled them further down, tucking a paper towel over them and into her knickers. She felt self-conscious as she realised just how much of her body was on display with Malfoy in the room.

“This will feel a bit cold,” the sonographer said, before smearing a clear gel on the lower part of her stomach. “Can both of you see the screens okay?”

Hermione looked briefly to the left, where Malfoy was sitting. He was gazing at the same screen as the sonographer, whilst Hermione could see a screen directly in front of her. “Yes,” she answered for the pair of them.

The transducer was lowered onto the gel and Hermione peered anxiously up at the screen. All she could see was a fuzzy black picture with various white blobs. How could you tell which was the baby? The sonographer hummed as she pushed the transducer to and fro, moving it from this angle to that angle. The longer this went on, the more nervous Hermione became. Was she experiencing a phantom pregnancy?

Finally, what felt like five minutes later, the sonographer smiled, pointed to a small white form, and said, “There, that’s your baby.”

Now that it had been pointed out, Hermione could see the baby and she felt a grin break out. _Oh, you’re beautiful_ , she thought feeling the tears spring to her eyes.

“Hello, baby,” she whispered.

 

 

\----------

 

 

“Sorry,” Draco said as they were leaving the hospital.

“What for?” Granger asked.

“I didn’t think to ask you first if you wanted to know the sex of the baby.”

“It’s okay. I knew it was too early for them to tell us anyway.”

“Oh,” he said. “So, do you want to know the sex at the 20-week scan?”

“Yes, I can’t wait until the baby’s born. I want to get everything prepared and be able to buy whatever clothes I want rather than a gender neutral tone. Although, if it is a girl, I’m not smothering her in pink,” she said.

He smiled at her enthusiastic tone and the need to be organised. It was so reminiscent of the Granger he had seen at Hogwarts. Once, that would have disgusted him, but he was becoming used to her and found that it was more endearing than he could ever have imagined.

“Do you have to return to the office straight away or do you want to get something to eat?” he asked.

She looked at him surprised. “I took the afternoon off. And sure; I didn’t have time for a proper lunch.”

“Do you know anywhere good around here?”

“Depends. Whatdo you fancy?”

“I don’t mind,” he said with a shrug.

In the end, they settled on East Asian food and by the time they were settled and had ordered, the awkwardness of the situation was making Draco regret his offer. Maybe it was madness to think they could build any kind of friendly relationship out of the mess they found themselves in.

“What is it?”

He looked up from the noodles he was toying with to see that Granger was watching him, the same soft expression on her face that he’d seen in the sonographer’s room.

“What are we going to do?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

Draco pointed between them. “About this… us.”

She frowned. “I don’t know what you mean?”

Frustration rose in his chest. “How are we ever going to have any kind of meaningful relationship? We can barely talk without it either being awkward or turning into an argument. This doesn’t bode well for any child we attempt to raise together. I don’t want our child to think strained silences are normal. I want it to think its parents actually like each other but I’m even sure if that is possible. How can we move on from our past and this bloody mess we find ourselves in right now? Who are we kidding? We’re not ready to raise this child. How are we even going to explain how it was conceived?”

He finished abruptly, his breath panting heavily from his mouth. He could feel a flush on his cheeks and looked away, suddenly embarrassed by the emotion that had just poured out from him. Silence fell between them and he was acutely aware that he had just vented, and to Granger of all people. He began trying to rebuild his defences, schooling his expression into the expressionless mask he had learnt to don.

“Don’t!” Granger said, her hand landing on his wrist. “Don’t close off.”

He looked back at her. She looked a little shocked but there was a small smile playing about her lips.

“What?” he asked awkwardly.

“Nothing,” she said and his eyes narrowed, which caused a light laugh to spill from her lips. “Okay, so that was a lie. Actually, I’m glad.”

“Glad?” he asked, confused.

“Yes, glad. Well, shocked a little, too. But overall, I’m pleased that you just exploded. I didn’t think you had it in you. It makes me hopeful.”

“Hopeful?” He was feeling stupid, repeating her words as questions, but this was not the reaction he had expected.

Granger learnt forward, pushing her plate out of the way to get closer to him. “It means you care. I mean, I knew you wanted this baby in your life, and that it was important to you and your family, but, to be honest, I wasn’t sure whether it was because you needed an heir or if you truly cared.”

“Of course I care. I’m not an emotionless machine,” he said huffily.

Her laugh tinkled across the table. “Not to be rude, but it’s not as if I’ve ever seen that side to you before.”

Draco rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, watching as she pulled her plate back to her and shovelled a huge amount of noodles into her mouth.

“I’m not good at opening up,” he finally said.

She rolled her eyes. “You think, Draco?”

His lips twitched in amusement. “We can’t all be emotional, foolish Gryffindors.”

That earned him a rap across his knuckles with her chopsticks. “Cheeky!”

“So where do we go from here?”

“Well, I come to your birthday party and we deal with the fact that I’m pregnant will be splashed all over the newspapers tomorrow.”

“That’s a very upbeat assessment.”

She smiled, almost shyly up at him. “I find that suddenly I’m not so depressed about it all.”

And hope burst in his chest, the relief making his shoulders drop from the unwittingly tense posture they had been in, and a smile broke out on his face.

 

 

\------------

 

 

Hermione stared down at the newspaper in front of her and grimaced. As Malfoy had predicted, their visit to the antenatal clinic was splashed all over the front page. She wondered when _The Daily Prophet_ had gone from being a serious newspaper to a trashy tabloid and then sniggered when she remember their salacious lies about Harry all those years ago. _Some things never change_ , she thought.

She sighed and stood, smoothing her dress out and fixing the loose tendril of hair that had come loose from her bun. She turned and examined her stomach in the mirror. It was strange to think that there was a little human growing inside of her. A little human that shared her and Malfoy’s genes. A couple of weeks ago that fact had scared her silly, but she was beginning to think that they were coming to an understanding. She realised it was a development she liked.

She opened her bedroom door, ready to join the others who had arrived twenty minutes ago and smiled as she heard their voices drift upstairs. She trod downstairs and walked into the living room where Ginny was doing some last minute grooming to the boys.

“I can’t believe we’re going to Malfoy’s birthday party,” Ron grumbled as Ginny yanked his tie into a neater knot. “Or that I have to be dressed up like a monkey.”

Harry nodded his agreement. He had lost the battle with Ginny and allowed her to stick gel on his hair so it was neat for once. “Personally, I don’t see what’s wrong with jeans and drinks down the pub.”

“Quit your complaining,” Ginny said. “And just remember this is for your niece or nephew.”

“Did you read _The Daily Prophet_ today?” Ron asked.

Harry nodded grimly. “I guess it had to come out at some point, but it makes Hermione’s denial of their affair look like a lie now.”

“If I ever see that Greengrass bird, I’m going to be sorely tempted to punch her,” Ron muttered.

“It’s not worth it, Ron. As Harry said, it was going to come out sooner or later,” Hermione said.

Ron assessed her. “You’re taking this a lot more calmly than I imagined.”

“I think Malfoy and I have finally come to an agreement.”

“Really?” Harry asked sceptically.

“Yeah. He basically blew up about how terrible our relationship was and how bad it was going to be for the baby. It made me think a lot better of him, really.”

“Well, at least he cares,” Ginny said.

“Exactly,” Hermione replied. “Until then I wasn’t really sure about how much he actually wanted this baby.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just a ploy to get you to be more sympathetic to him?” Harry asked.

Ginny tutted disbelievingly.

“What?!” Harry asked defensively. “I’m only asking because I was there when Lucius tried to manipulate Hermione into some sham relationship.”

“No, this was definitely real. He was so embarrassed afterwards. I mean, Malfoy hasn’t really ever shown much emotion before.”

Ron snorted. “I’m not sure he even knows what they are.”

“He’s just lonely,” Luna said, emerging from the kitchen, a glass of water in her hand.

“Not this again,” her husband moaned.

“No, I think Luna has a point,” Hermione said. “Pansy pretty much told me that he doesn’t really open up to his friends and from all accounts, his relationship with Astoria was terrible. It’s almost as if he’s emotionally crippled by the duty he owes to his family name.”

Harry grimaced. “I never understand why the Pureblood families put such an emphasis on duty rather than happiness.”

Ron grinned. “It’s not something you can level at the Weasleys.”

“Well,” Hermione said briskly, “with this baby, the Malfoy family will have to change. There is no way I would allow any child of mine to be pushed into an unhappy marriage just for the sake of the family name.”

“No true Pureblood family would have your child marry theirs,” Ron teased. “It’s going to be a tainted half-blood.

She laughed, acknowledging the truth of this. “Although I think the Pureblood families are changing. Pansy is all but trying to push me and Malfoy together.”

Ron gagged and Hermione punched his arm.

“It’s about time,” Harry said, ignoring his friend’s byplay. “It’s over a decade since the war finished. There’s no place anymore for that type of thinking.”

“As fascinating as this analysis of Pureblood ideology is,” Ginny said, “unless we get moving, we’re going to be late for this party.”

“And besides, this is our opportunity to see just how open Malfoy’s Pureblood friends are going to be towards me and the baby,” Hermione said with a wink.


	17. Turning of the Tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I have some good news! I'm about halfway through the next chapter, so the gap between updates should be slightly more reasonable. Although, of course, now I've said that...
> 
> My many thanks to pagan for betaing this for me despite having a manic real life.

The party was in full swing before Draco got a moment to himself and he quickly made his escape onto the balcony outside the ballroom, which his mother had lit up with floating candles and multi-coloured balls of light. It was incredibly pretty but didn’t match his mood.

The older he got, the more he hated his birthday and the massive production it had become. It made him acutely aware that his life had spun out of control and how unhappy he was with it all. Once, a room full of sycophants singing his praises and showering him with presents had been all he had wanted, but he had married one, and he intimately knew how empty all of it was. With a child of his own on the way, he realised he wanted more, but wasn’t sure how to achieve it.

“ _This_ is where you’ve got to,” Hermione said, as she joined him where he stood overlooking the formal gardens. Dusk was deepening into a dark gloom that matched his mood perfectly and he didn’t respond.

“I think that went pretty well, considering,” she continued, ignoring his lack of a response.

“No one said anything bad to you, did they?” Draco asked, suddenly worried about what she could have been subjected to. He had sat his friends down before the party proper had begun and had threatened to hex them all if they so much as made Hermione uncomfortable.

“Nothing more than the usual banter I would expect.”

He wasn’t really sure what that meant. Did she mean that in a general sense, or in a Slytherin sense? If she meant it in a general sense, then that really wasn’t a problem. Despite what others thought about them, Draco and his friends did have a sense of humour, and it wasn’t always cruel. But what if Hermione had meant in a Slytherin sense? That could only mean slurs and taunts being thrown at her. But surely she would not put up with that? He couldn’t imagine her cheerfully going about her business if that was the case.

Draco had been surprised to see Hermione fully embrace the party. There had been no anxious hugging of the wall; she had breezed in, the life and soul of the place, ignoring the whispers and stares that had first greeted her. He had been stunned to see her out on the dance floor, first with Adrian, and then Theo, and Blaise. It looked as if she had been charming them too, if the smiles and laughter as they danced had been anything to go by. Theo had even come by afterwards to slap him on the back and congratulate him on his luck. That didn’t exactly sound as if she had undergone anything awful.

He decided not to probe any further. It was not as if Hermione was the shy and retiring type. He was pretty sure that if any of his friends had been unpleasant, then he would have heard all about it from her, and she wouldn’t have minced her words.

Hermione turned her back to the gardens, leaning against the balustrade that lined the balcony. “So, why are you out here on your own?”

Draco shrugged his shoulders. “Not really in the mood. I hate these things.”

She raised an eyebrow at that. “I would have thought this was precisely the kind of thing you went in for.”

“Once upon a time it was. Now I see it for all it is: a lot of fake people pretending to care that I’m a year older.”

She tutted. “That’s quite a pessimistic outlook you have going on.” She swatted an imaginary fly away as he opened his mouth to argue. “You have a good bunch of friends in there. They care about you, and they are genuinely worried about you.”

Draco snorted. “Worried about me. Right!”

Her brows drew together in disapproval. “She did a real number on you, didn’t she?”

“What? Who are you talking about?”

“Astoria. She’s managed to turn you into this cynical human being who automatically dismisses everyone.”

Draco turned away. He was not going to listen to this, especially not from her. He didn’t want to talk about Astoria; he was pretty sure he didn’t want to talk about his ex-wife ever again. He certainly didn’t want to talk about the effect that she had had on his personality. The last time he had unburdened his emotions to a woman it had seen him married to her, and look how that had turned out.

Hermione put her arm on his, stopping his attempt to walk away. “Don’t do that, Draco. Don’t run and hide because you don’t want to have an uncomfortable conversation.”

Running his hands through his hair agitatedly, he spun to face her once more. “I can’t do this. I’m not like you, bursting with confidence and self-esteem and happy to talk about whatever to whomever. This is too much; it’s too personal, and I’m not ready to go there.”

Hermione’s hands settled on her hips, the stance familiar to Draco as one he had seen several times at Hogwarts when she had been exasperated with her friends. “You think this is easy for me? That I can just waltz into your home, to your party, with your friends and act like us, this pregnancy, everything that has happened over the last 12 or so weeks, is nothing? I don’t think you even realise, Draco Malfoy, the effort it took for me to approach your friends and be that friendly. It wasn’t that long ago that they were calling me a Mudblood and sneering down their noses at me.”

Shame flooded through him and he hung his head, staring at the patio slabs, unable to meet her eyes. He hadn’t meant to imply that. He wasn’t _that_ insensitive.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I’m just… not good with the talking stuff. I thought you would’ve realised that after yesterday,” he said, rubbing his neck and avoiding her gaze.

What was it about this woman that managed to get under his skin? He had spent years developing a control that he was proud of. No one had penetrated the barrier he had placed around himself unless he allowed it, but here she was, and in less than two days she had managed to get an emotional outburst from him. Twice.

A light floral fragrance had him lifting his head and he found himself staring into her eyes. She had taken his distraction to move much closer to him than she had ever stood.

“Draco, it’s okay to let go. You don’t have to be this uber-controlled person all the time. It isn’t natural.”

Her breath stirred against his cheek and he found himself swaying towards her before he caught himself and rocked back on his heels.

“I don’t know any other way to be,” he admitted.

Smiling softly, Hermione reached up and cupped his cheek. “Then it’s time you learnt. This baby cannot have an emotional icicle for a father.”

The warmth in her face was breath-taking and he realised that this was what inspired such loyalty towards her from her friends. This loving, caring, empathetic woman took the blows life gave her and got straight back up again. She didn’t give a damn about what the world thought about her, but if she cared for you, then she would fight by your side until the bitter end. He suddenly realised that he wouldn’t mind having her by his side.

Reaching up, he took her hand off his cheek, bringing it back down to their sides, but instead of letting go as he might once have done, he intertwined his fingers with hers. “I think I’d like that. Do you reckon you could teach me?”

She squeezed his hand. “I know I can.”

\-----------

Hermione had resisted all attempts to get her to return to the ballroom when Narcissa had found her and Draco outside. Draco’s mother had herded him back in to blow out his cake candles with a wink and a conspiratorial smile to Hermione. Hermione had laughed as he’d whined that he wasn’t a baby who needed, or even wanted candles on his cake, enjoying the playful relationship Draco had with his mother.

A hand stole to her stomach as she wondered about what would be in store for her and her child. She hoped they would have the same dynamic that Draco and Narcissa had, as strange as that sounded. It might not be overtly evident, but the Malfoys were an extremely loving family. She gave a wry smile as she thought back to the early weeks of her pregnancy and how scared she had been at the prospect of having a baby that would have the Malfoys as family.

She found that she was beginning to care about Draco as well. Gone were the fear and the bitter hatred towards him that had been left over from the war. She had seen past that and knew that Draco was just as vulnerable as she was—in some cases, more so. He was desperately unhappy and lonely and longing for a family. Knowing this about Draco made him a lot more endearing, the prickly shell that he projected onto the world becoming more understandable, and she related to his desire of wanting a family to call his own—she wanted the exact same thing, despite being very close to her friends.

The sound of a cane clacking on slabs made her turn her head, and she couldn’t help raising her eyebrows as she saw Lucius coming towards her.

“Ah, there you are Miss Granger. My wife told me I would find you out here.”

“You were looking for me?” she asked, surprised.

“Your friends, Mr Potter and Mr Weasley, were looking for you. I said I would track you down.”

The thought of Harry and Ron approaching Lucius Malfoy to ask where she could be amused her no end, and she couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her lips.

“Is there something funny, Miss Granger?”

“Please, call me Hermione. Miss Granger makes me feel incredibly old,” she said, ignoring his question.

“As you wish, Hermione,” he said, and she was happy to note that he didn’t push her to answer his query.

Now that he knew where she was, Hermione fully expected Lucius to leave or request that she come back inside and seek her friends, but instead he stood, resting his hands on the patio wall.

“Narcissa has done such wonders with the gardens,” he remarked casually.

“Really?”

“Yes, as hard as it is to imagine, but when she married me the gardens were in a dreadful state. No one had cared about them for generations.”

“I would have thought that there would have been a team of gardeners to do that.”

Lucius turned and smiled at her. “Oh, you misunderstand me. They weren’t unkempt, just unimaginative. Yew trees and knot gardens with immaculate shrubberies but no flair or style or even that many varieties of flowers. Narcissa has a passion for flowers, you see, and the first thing she did as my wife was to change the planting schedule and introduce a riot of colour and fragrance. It caused the Head Gardener to resign.”

Hermione gave a little laugh at the image of a stuffy gardener wilting in outrage under the demands of Narcissa that there be more flowers in a garden. Lucius looked down at her, warmth in his eyes and pleasant smile on his face. It was something she had never imagined to see him direct at her, and it made her wonder just how the Malfoy patriarch viewed her.

“Change is good and sometimes it is necessary,” he said with heavy meaning in his tone.

Eyebrows drawn together, Hermione studied him intently. Was he implying what she thought he was?

A slightly mocking smile grew on his lips. Oh, it wasn’t hateful, more amused, and she stared at it in fascination. “Oh yes, Hermione, I mean exactly what you think I mean. You are good for Draco, good for this family.”

“Are you just saying that because you want me to reconsider your plan?” she blurted out without thinking.

“Surprisingly enough, no. I genuinely believe you are, as difficult as it might be for you to imagine.”

“But I’m Muggle-born. I doubt you relish the thought of a half-blood child.”

“That’s one of things I admire about you, Hermione. There is no pussy footing around. You get straight to the point. I think it’s a sign of my age. Gone are the days when I enjoyed mental games. Or maybe it’s my illness. I now find I don’t have the time or the patience for them.”

There was nothing she could say to that and so she remained silent, waiting for him to elaborate on what he meant. He sighed and leaned back against the balustrade, placing his cane carefully upright so it wouldn’t fall over before crossing one ankle over the other. “I won’t insult your intelligence by pretending that a half-blood grandchild was ever on my list of desirable things, but life has a funny way of turning what you think you want, or what you think is for the best, upside down and showing you that actually it’s for the worst. Take Astoria for example. I thought that if I kept the marriage together, refused to support Draco when he came to me to discuss a divorce, that I would see a child born, one that would carry on the Malfoy legacy and pureblooded to boot. How wrong was that assumption? But at least it led us to the situation we find ourselves in.”

“Are you really trying to tell me that you think the mix-up at the Clinic was a good thing?”

“Precisely. And that’s what I meant about life showing me where I am wrong. You are everything Astoria should have been. You have opened Draco up, helped him come out from behind that wall he has erected, and I find that this is far more important to me than the thought of the Malfoy family no longer being purebloods.”

Hermione couldn’t help the sceptical look that she knew crossed her face. It just seemed a little too easy. This was Lucius Malfoy, the man who had been one of Lord Voldemort’s most ardent supporters. For him to suddenly declare that the blood of his grandchild was of no importance was a little hard to swallow.

“Forgive me if I find that a little too convenient, Lucius.”

“I wouldn’t expect it any other way, Hermione. I doubt I would believe me either if I were standing in your shoes. There is bad blood between this family and you and there is no point trying to pretend otherwise, but it doesn’t always have to be that way. Maybe it is my illness that has forced me to recognise this.”

“If you will excuse my bluntness, just how ill are you?”

Sorrow grew in his eyes and he said, “I’m dying. My team of Healers can find no cure and I am growing weaker by the day.”

She hadn’t expected it, but a pang of sadness resounded in her heart. This proud man, who had done so much to harm her and her friends, was going out with a whimper and it felt wrong somehow. “Is there nothing they can try?”

“Oh, they are trying things all the time. I’m St. Mungo’s very own guinea pig, but none of it is working. I have been exposed to too much experimental magic and most of it incredibly damaging. I have come to view it as payback for my sins.”

“But you’ll be there for the birth of the baby, won’t you?” She wished she could’ve kicked herself the moment she said those words. It sounded like such a childish, selfish thing to say to someone who had a potentially terminal disease. It was also ridiculous to assume that he would know one way or another.

“I very much hope to be,” he said. “But if I’m not, then I am selfish enough to ask you for some things.”

“Like what?” she asked, her stomach churning from the direction this conversation was taking.

“Give Draco a chance. A real chance, not just because you are having this baby together, but because something could grow between the pair of you. I see it in the way that he looks at you, but he’s confused and doesn’t want to trust his feelings again, not after Astoria, which is why I’m having this conversation with you rather than him.”

“I thought I was already giving him a chance by actually being here and not taking him to court for full custody of the child. It feels very much as if I am.”

“You are, but I am hoping I could push you a little further. I didn’t develop my plan to push the pair of you together out of the kindness of my heart. At the time I was trying to think of a way to keep this baby in the family for more than the occasional weekend visit would allow, and I thought that trying to manipulate you both into a faux relationship would bring me the desired result. However, I wasn’t prepared for just how stubborn you would be in resisting it, or in fighting public perceptions of you. I don’t know why really, as you always were stubborn,” he said the last sentence with a small chuckle.

“I’m glad that hasn’t passed you by.”

Lucius shot her an amused glance. “But that doesn’t mean I was wrong.”

“Hang on a minute—” Hermione interrupted, a scowl on her face but Lucius raised his hand, cutting off her objection.

“I didn’t mean about the whole manipulation scheme, but the potential that you and Draco have. It’s there and it’s real. I’ve seen it this evening and so have others. Do you know the amount of people who come and ribbed me about the whole media storm? They cannot understand why you and Draco are persisting with the fiction that you aren’t an item. The story about the pregnancy this morning along with some of the lingering looks you have both exchanged, not to mention you both disappearing for quite a while, seem to have put paid to any lingering doubts as to the veracity of your story.”

Hermione huffed, placing her hands on her hips. “But my story is true! We haven’t had some sordid affair!”

“And if there was no chemistry between you, I think more people would believe that. But did you know that Draco’s eyes hardly left you once you walked into the ballroom? He knew at all moments where you were and aligned his body so that he could see you. And are you aware that he sat his friends down just before the party started and threatened them with physical harm were they to say anything rude or obnoxious to you?”

She stared at him in shock. Surely he was exaggerating? This had to be nothing more than a ploy to get his way.

“I see the doubt inside you, Hermione, but I am not lying. I am telling you this because I know Draco never will, even if he realised what it meant.”

“But… but _surely_ there is nothing there?”

“Oh, I don’t think he’s in love you—not yet anyway. But the potential is there and what you have to ask yourself, Hermione, is whether you are brave enough to snatch at the chance?”

“Who said anything about me liking him? Or even wanting to start anything with him?”

The look he shot her was insultingly patronising. “Maybe you want to pretend to believe that, but if you felt nothing for him, then you wouldn’t be here tonight.”

She puffed out her cheeks, irritated by his insinuation. “We made an agreement to try to become friends for the sake of the baby.”

He shook his head, the smirk he wore making her more than want to punch him. “People with your history don’t try to become friends. You skirt around each other warily, at best acknowledging each other’s existence.”

“That’s not true. Pansy Parkinson and I have made an effort to be friendly.”

“And are you trying to tell me that you would have done so if you didn’t have Draco in common?”

She opened her mouth to retort but had nothing to come back with, and she frowned as she thought on his words. With a significant look at her, he straightened up, grasped his cane once more and walked back into the party, leaving her staring somewhat sightlessly out over the Manor’s gardens.

Just where did this leave her?


	18. Endings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive thanks as always to pagan for suffering through my awkward sentence structures and apparent inability to be consistent with my grammar tense.
> 
> Er...yeah...

“We weren’t… well, _I_ wasn’t sure whether to invite Malfoy or not,” Ginny said, amending her statement at a look from Harry.

Hermione was over at the Potters for another midweek dinner. With the upheaval in her life settling down, she had made time once more for little things like dinners with her friends. It was nice to get back into the routine now that the tabloids had stopped camping outside her house and following her everywhere. Of course, that didn’t mean they stayed away from her and Draco if they were ever out in public together.

“Why would you invite Draco?”

“Well, would you ever consider inviting Harry over for dinner without me?” Ginny asked, a cheeky smile wreathing her face.

“No, but that’s because you are a couple, that would be… oh! Oh, ha ha! Very funny, Ginevra, but Draco and I aren’t a couple.”

Ginny raised her eyebrows at that, patently disbelieving. Hermione threw her hands up in the air. “Okay, so we’re getting on and I never thought I would hear the day when I said that. But we are just friends. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more? Hmmm… I believe you, Hermione, but thousands wouldn’t.”

“Harry!” Hermione said, appealing to her best friend to step in.

“Hey, don’t get me involved in this. If you are claiming that there is nothing between you and Draco, then that’s on your shoulders,” Harry said, pushing his glasses back up his nose, a teasing glint in his eye.

“What? You don’t believe me either?”

“Do I think you and Draco are dating? No. But don’t ask me if I think you and Draco _could_ be dating, because I’m not sure you’d like the answer.”

“You are both impossible,” Hermione said with a pout.

Harry leaned forward, patting her hand across the table, the amused smile gone from his face. “You know that wouldn’t be a bad thing, right? I mean, the pair of you have weathered this whole mess remarkably well and that you’ve managed to become friends out of it is pretty remarkable, especially when you factor in where you have come from.”

Hermione was touched by Harry’s words. She and Draco had made a real effort to get past the bad history between them and were now at a stage where meeting for lunch or going together to look at baby things was no longer awkward. She was enjoying the new found understanding, and Draco was a lot more interesting that she could have imagined. But despite thinking about it since his birthday, Hermione had no idea if she wanted to take their friendship any further. She had lain awake more than one night thinking the options over.

And then there was Draco himself. He had shown no inclination that he wanted to mean any more to Hermione than a friend and the father of their baby. At times, she wished things were a little less complicated and that she knew her own mind in this matter.

“I don’t know, Harry. I’m not sure either of us would be ready to jump into anything like that.”

“Maybe because the pair of you are over-analysing everything,” Ginny jumped in, jolting the table with her baby bump as she rose. “I swear, I get bigger every pregnancy.”

Hermione smiled at the size of Ginny who was now nearing her due date; she looked so pregnant it was adorable. Harry jumped up, taking the dishes out of Ginny’s hands and said, “Sit down, love. You don’t need to pick up after us. This is your turn to relax.”

“Relax! Fat chance I have of that with our two boys.”

Harry chuckled. “They do keep us on our toes, but as they are with Molly tonight, you can relax and have a lie-in tomorrow morning.”

Ginny sighed blissfully. “You just wait, Hermione. If I were you, I would be taking every opportunity you have to stay in bed because, once my niece or nephew comes, you can kiss your bed goodbye.”

Hermione rubbed her own burgeoning bump, thinking how quickly this whole pregnancy was going.

“Are you going to find out the sex next week?” Harry asked. 

“Draco and I discussed this after the last scan and we both decided that we wanted to know.”

Harry shot his wife a glare. “See, Hermione and Malfoy are being normal about this. They’d know whether to keep the male baby clothes or not.”

“Oh hush!” Ginny replied good-naturedly. 

Harry was desperate to know what his next child was going to be but it was a Weasley tradition to keep it a surprise. Hermione knew that he was hoping for a girl and had stumbled across a bag of pretty little dresses in his office the other day. He had claimed it was for a co-worker who was having a baby, but she also happened to know that co-worker and that they asked for the sex of the baby at the 20-week scan and were having a boy.

“Narcissa isn’t even waiting to find out the gender. She’s invited me on Sunday to go and view the nursery at the Manor and check what I would like to keep.”

“Are you moving in?” Ginny asked with a raise of her eyebrows.

Hermione gave her red-headed friend a pointed look. “Stop it! She wants to redecorate for the times that the baby will be staying there and she thought I might like to give some input.”

Harry laughed. “I’m still struggling with just how welcoming Narcissa and Lucius are being.”

“They are desperate for a grandchild. They’d have welcomed me with open arms even if I had been a squib.”

Ginny tutted disapprovingly. “Or maybe they’re aren’t completely blind and realise that you are so much better than what they expected.”

Hermione laughed but patted her friend’s hand for the compliment. “I guess anything is possible now that the Malfoys are actually welcoming of a half-blood.”

“If anything gives me hope for our world, then it’s that,” Harry said, seriously. “Who would have thought fifteen years ago that any of this would be possible? But if Lucius can learn that blood doesn’t matter, then it gives me hope.”

There was a silence around the table as they all took it in. Hermione thought back to their school days and just how awful the Malfoy family had been. If anyone had gone back and told her fifteen-year-old self that she would one day have a baby with Draco Malfoy, of all people, she would have laughed and then hexed them. She smiled softly as she remembered how she had dreamed of marrying Ron, being part of the Weasley family, of having a more permanent place in the magical world. 

Well, she had forged her own place, which was something she would always be proud of; she didn’t need the validation of being subsumed into a wizarding family to truly belong. On top of that, she was expecting to bring up a child in the magical world. To give them an experience of being born into magic and all that entailed, and she was excited about the prospect of being a mother and of having the support of a father. If everything had gone to plan, then she would have done it alone and she would have done it well. But that wasn’t how things had panned out and once she had accustomed herself to the new reality, she had quickly seen the advantages. 

A sigh across the table from Ginny interrupted her thoughts. “Your baby is going to have such beautiful things. Just imagine how amazing that nursery in Malfoy Manor is.”

“As long as there are no carvings on the cot of Muggles being subjugated, I’ll be happy,” Hermione said jokingly.

The laughter that followed broke up the pensive mood.

\---------

The difference between the formal rooms and the family quarters in Malfoy Manor was always a source of amazement for Hermione. It didn’t matter that she had been here several times in the past few months, and apart from Draco’s birthday party, had spent them all in the more relaxed surroundings of the private wing. The elegance remained. She didn’t think a house under the keeping of Narcissa could be anything other than elegant, but little touches of everyday life made it homelier – as homey as a large country estate could be.

She smiled as they walked down the corridor which lead to the nursery and Narcissa made a sound of annoyance at the broomstick and Quidditch robes that had been casually propped up against a door. 

“One day, I’m going to actually burn Draco’s Quidditch things,” Narcissa said as she flicked her wand and cleared them away into a cupboard opposite. “No matter how many times I tell him not to leave his things lying around, he never fails to have me tripping over that bloody broomstick.”

“Harry would agree with you. Ginny’s inability to put her Quidditch gear away drove him crazy for years.” 

Narcissa laughed lightly. “I never thought a day would come when I had something so mundane in common with Harry Potter.”

Hermione wasn’t given the opportunity to reply as Narcissa flung open a double door, revealing a large, bright nursery. It was larger than was possibly needed for one baby, being about the size of her first one-bedroom flat, but there was no denying that it was beautiful. Windows ran down one side of the room, looking out over the eastern part of the gardens. 

“It was put in the East wing to make the most of the morning sunshine,” Narcissa said. “The windows are all magically reinforced so that no accidents can happen.”

“It’s huge,” Hermione said.

“Oh, I know. Ridiculous really. Draco used to rattle around in here when he was young. But it was built in a different time, when having large families was de rigueur.”

Hermione bit back the extremely personal question of why Narcissa hadn’t had more children when she obviously had a fondness for them. It had taken a while for Narcissa to truly warm up to her, longer than Lucius, so she didn’t want to rock the boat unnecessarily. 

Instead, Hermione’s eyes wandered around the room. This was where Draco had grown up, crawled about in a nappy, and played. She spotted the cot on the far side of the room and her mouth dropped open in admiration. She had been kidding earlier that week at the Potters when she’d mentioned a carved cot, but she wasn’t really surprised. It was solid oak and looked antique and had magical creatures, amongst them unicorns, dragons, manticores, and sphinxes, twining up the legs and railings. She stroked her hand along it, appreciating the craftsmanship. It was beautiful and she could picture her little baby sleeping in it. It put the cot she had picked out from John Lewis firmly in the shade. 

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Narcissa said. “I was grateful the Malfoys already had a family cot because my mother offered me the Black one. I believe you lived inside Grimmauld Place for a while, so it won’t take much imagination for you to know why I really didn’t want to accept the offer.”

A cot with carvings of subjected Muggles came instantly to mind and Hermione stifled her laughter, which won her a smile from Narcissa. “The Malfoys, for all their ideas on blood purity, really do appreciate beauty.”

“Something you share, if your husband is right.”

It was Narcissa’s turn to laugh. “Oh yes, I like things to be beautiful. It was the first thing that attracted me to Lucius and I instantly imagined how handsome our children would be.”

Hermione ignored Narcissa’s use of the plural, something holding her back once more from asking why Narcissa had only one child. “Well, Draco is certainly is a sight for sore eyes.”

Narcissa’s smile deepened, an approving look on her face as she looked Hermione over. “I wasn’t sure if you had noticed.”

Hermione could feel the heat pooling in her cheeks but decided that she would brazen it out rather than act like some love-struck teenager. “I think you would have to be blind not to.”

“Yes, well, the world can be rather blind at times.”

“That it can. Draco was guilty of that himself when we were young,” Hermione said pointedly.

The hint of shame in Narcissa’s eyes was not missed by Hermione but she was not embarrassed by pointing it out. Yes, the Malfoys might not have had an easy time of it after the war, but she was not going to feel too sorry for them as it was their actions and views that had put them there. It didn’t mean that she couldn’t appreciate that they had obviously had a turnaround in their thoughts. 

“Listen, about that—“ Narcissa began to say before Hermione raised a hand.

“I didn’t say it to get an apology, Narcissa. Out of the whole family, you have the least to apologise for and I have put my differences with both Draco and Lucius behind me. I’m not petty and I certainly want us to have a good relationship for the sake of this child.”

Narcissa gave her a hesitant smile. “I think if anything has proven to Lucius and I how wrong we were, it has been the grace in which you have handled this whole situation.”

“I’m not sure I was so gracious at the beginning,” Hermione said ruefully. 

That earned her another laugh from the Malfoy matriarch. “I’m not going to hold that against you. The first trimester is always so trying.”

Hermione thought back to the mood swings, how tired she always felt, the hideous bouts of sickness, and shuddered. “I won’t disagree with you there.”

“But Lucius and I are grateful that you are forgiving enough to allow us to be a part of our grandchild’s life. Others might not be so generous in your situation, considering the past.”

“It’s important to me that this child has family, both magical and Muggle.”

Hermione did her best to ignore the moisture that welled up in her eyes. She wasn’t going to give in to her rampaging hormones and cry. She could see that Narcissa was a little teary, too. 

“I had hoped this nursery would become alive once more,” Narcissa mused. “When Draco first married Astoria, I thought they would want a big family. The Greengrasses always have had a lot of children, but as the years passed, I gave up and wished just for one.”

Hermione reached out and gripped Narcissa’s hand. “And now you have one.”

\--------

The click of his office door had Draco raising his head from the paperwork he was attempting to finish before his presence was demanded at lunch.

“Are they still up there?” he asked as his father walked into the room.

As Lucius moved into the light from one of the windows, Draco noticed that he was leaning rather heavily on his cane and a frown flittered across his brow. He knew better than to mention anything. His father still became cagey when questioned about his health and wouldn’t admit it if he had any pain. If he did, Narcissa would have him straight upstairs and on bed rest, which Draco knew he hated. 

“Last time I popped my head in, your mother was pulling out your old baby robes.”

Draco groaned. 

“You should be worried,” Lucius continued. “Hermione was cooing over how cute they were.”

Draco smiled at the thought. The strangest thing to come out of this whole situation was the relationship Hermione had managed to build with his parents. Somehow, in the past few weeks, since his birthday, she had become an integral part of the family. A weekend didn’t pass where Narcissa did not invite her for Sunday lunch, although Draco knew Hermione declined more often than not because she had her own commitments with her parents and the Weasleys. It seemed a testament to Hermione’s character that she managed to juggle three completely different families without upsetting anyone.

Then, two weeks ago, Hermione had announced that it was time Draco met her parents and he had gone over for the inevitable Sunday roast. It had possibly been the most awkward event of his life. Hermione’s parents did not stint on the disapproval and whilst it was obvious they loved their daughter, they certainly did not agree with her choice in getting pregnant the way she had. 

They had also given him a frosty reception which made it clear that Hermione had shared most of her school life with her parents. Then again, he had a vague recollection of seeing them briefly in Diagon Alley, when his father and Arthur Weasley had engaged in fisticuffs. Had that been just before their third year? No, it must have been their second as Sirius Black hadn’t escaped from Azkaban then. Anyway, that memory had not helped endear him any more to the Grangers.

Afterwards, Hermione had claimed that it had been a success, but if she counted pointed remarks and very few smiles a success, then Merlin only knew just how bad she had expected it go. 

“I’m proud of you, son.”

The words had Draco lifting his head from the parchment where he had been unconsciously doodling little stick figures. With a tut and a wave of his wand, he vanished them; it also gave him time to clear away the emotion clogging his throat. 

“Thanks, Dad, but why?”

“For how you’ve handled yourself during this. You could’ve pushed for a fake relationship too, but you didn’t and you were right not to. What you and Hermione have now is a lot better than anything I concocted would have been.”

Drawing his eyebrows together, Draco looked over the desk to where his father was sitting. “That’s good to know, but why are you saying this to me now?”

A flicker of pain flashed across Lucius’ face. If Draco had not been studying him, then he probably would have missed it, and it struck foreboding into his heart.

“Is everything okay?”

“I don’t want to burden you with this—” his father started to say.

“We’ve been through this,” Draco interrupted. “You hid your illness from Mum and I for far too long and you promised that there would be no more secrets, no more trying to handle this yourself.”

Draco’s heart rate sped up, anxiety pooling deep in his stomach, as the silence stretched on between them. He could see his father was working himself up to say something. The fact that he was having to do so meant that it was nothing good.

Lucius took an audible breath before he opened his mouth and said, “I don’t have much time left.”

“What does that mean?” 

Annoyance shone in Lucius’ eyes for a moment. “You know what it means, Draco. It means I’m dying.”

“No!” Draco objected. “No! The Healers are still working on you. They will find something. They have to find something.”

His father shook his head sadly. “They’re running out of time. I can feel it.”

“You’re just being silly. Of course you can’t feel it.”

As the words left his lips, Draco knew he was in denial. His father’s face told him he was in denial and that he actually was running out of time. The combination of tiredness and sadness made Lucius look far older than he had just a few weeks ago. 

“Mum,” he said helplessly before tailing off.

“I haven’t said a word to your mother. I can’t. She’s so happy, Draco. She hasn’t been happy in a long while and I can’t destroy that for her.”

The words were left unsaid, but Draco didn’t need them to be spoken aloud. The burden for this was going to fall to him. Lucius was letting him know, staying true to his promise of no more secrets, but the selfish part of Draco almost wished he had kept it to himself. How was he to deal with this information? 

Dying.

The word echoed around his skull, sending vibrations down his spine, causing panic to ripple outwards through his body, and for a moment, his breath hitched, caught in his throat, unable to push up and out, choking him with the knowledge that his father was dying. 

_Dying._

He clawed his hand through his hair, needing something to tether him to the present. 

“Draco,” his father said softly, soothingly, helping him focus once more, the understanding in Lucius’ gaze calming him. 

“Okay,” he said, panting a little. “It’s okay. _I’m_ okay. I can do this.”

“I know you can. I might not have always been so supportive, so accepting of your feelings, but those days are gone. And I’m ashamed to say that it took this family being on the brink of disaster for me to get there. I should have been like that from day one.”

“Dad, don’t.”

“No, I need to get this off my chest. I need for you to know so that you don’t make the same mistakes. Don’t be the father I was, Draco.”

“I won’t,” Draco said, tears clogging his tone. “I’ll be the father you are now.”

In all his thirty years, Draco could honesty say he had never seen his father cry. Not even during the darkest days when the Dark Lord had commandeered the Manor and had pretty much put them under house arrest. 

Now he could do nothing but sit silently and watch as a couple of tears escaped Lucius’ eyes and slipped down his cheek before they were hurriedly brushed away and a crackle of parchment broke the sombre mood.

“Here,” his father said, a sealed parchment in his outstretched hand.

Draco recoiled slightly. “Shouldn’t Horatio have that, if that’s what I think it is?”

A wry smile graced Lucius’ lips. “This isn’t my will. No, Horatio has that already and, to let you know, I’ve amended it so this baby is included.”

If this was any other time, if his father was not dying, then the knowledge that Lucius whole- heartedly welcomed a halfblood baby would have sent warm tingles through him, but Draco could not help but wish an amended will was not necessary.

“What is this?”

“It’s the funeral arrangements I want.”

Draco stared at him, in shock. “But Horatio—”

“Yes, I could have left these with Horatio, too. But I wanted you to keep hold of them.”

Taking them from Lucius’ hand, Draco noticed his own was trembling slightly. He stood and moved across the room to the drinks cabinet, tapping his combination on the wood panelling with his wand. A pane moved across to reveal a safe. He put the parchment inside, hoping that it would be many months before he had to remove it.

With that done, he turned back around to face Lucius, who gave him a nod before rising from his chair and making his way out of the room. Draco could’ve sworn his steps seemed a little lighter. 

However, Draco remained where he was, his thoughts in turmoil until the lunch gong rang.

\---------

Looking back, Draco cherished that Sunday lunch. Hermione and Narcissa had clattered down from the nursery, bright and breezy, full of plans for the baby that had Lucius smiling brilliantly, interjecting now and again with some suggestion for the nursery’s decoration. A happy atmosphere had infused the table, and Draco struggled to remember a time when everything had been so positive. It would certainly have been before the war. Before the Dark Lord’s resurrection.

His own dark thoughts had been banished as he’d watched Hermione’s hand lovingly stroke the baby bump every now and again and his groans had been good natured as his mum pulled out the baby albums, showing a laughing Hermione all his embarrassing baby photos. Lucius had stood behind the two women, his hand resting intimately on Narcissa’s shoulder the entire time.

The laughter and the good natured teasing stayed with him as the Healers piled through the Floo Network later that night in response to his panicked call. They lingered on as a warm memory as he watched his father’s lifeless body leave the Manor for the last time, his mother’s screams ringing in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...don't hate me for this!


	19. Portraits and Scans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't even have any excuses to offer. So yeah, I really did not envisage such a lengthy delay between this and the last chapter but, as those of you who follow me on tumblr know, I'm having extreme Dramione inspiration issues at the moment.
> 
> But the next chapter is here! It's shorter than usual but I didn't want you to wait another 7 months and also it seemed like a good place to leave it!
> 
> Many thanks to pagan who got this back to me super quickly despite having lots of rl commitments.

This wasn’t the first wizarding funeral Hermione had attended. No, that had come at the end of her sixth year when Professor Dumbledore had been murdered. That was followed two years later by a rash of funerals she would rather never have had to go to; the image of George having to be dragged from Fred’s graveside screaming and sobbing was seared into her memory.

This, however, was the first traditional pureblood funeral, and it was a vastly different affair. There was no crying, not even from Narcissa, who sat stoic and controlled behind a large pair of sunglasses. If Hermione didn’t know better, she would assume that Lucius’ passing had had no impact. Such was the lack of emotion displayed by Narcissa. 

It was a vast difference from the scenes she had witnessed in the Manor over the last few days, where Narcissa had refused to crawl out of her bed, hiding under a mess of blankets and pillows, her face raw and red from the constant tears, having to be coaxed like a small child to take small sips of soup.

The sheer emotion displayed by Narcissa behind closed doors was understandable. She and Lucius had been deeply in love and no matter how calm and collected Narcissa currently appeared, Hermione knew she was going through the steps of grief.

However, it was Draco that worried Hermione. Narcissa’s reaction was healthy, expected, and something easily managed, no matter how draining. The icy façade Draco was hiding behind was much more difficult. He had withdrawn into himself, closed off and cold. He had efficiently dealt with the funeral details, following Lucius’ wishes to the letter, but she had not seen him shed a tear. She found the lack of emotion disturbing. 

She turned to him now, squeezing his hand. She had slipped her hand into his early on in the ceremony. He hadn’t pushed her away, which was encouraging, but neither had he wrapped his fingers around hers. His hand had remained straight and unmoving, but Hermione refused to be discouraged. She knew that Draco needed support, even if he failed to acknowledge this himself.

“Come,” he said to her in a clipped tone. “The unveiling is happening back at the Manor.”

“The unveiling?” Hermione asked, but Draco didn’t hear her. He had dropped her hand and strode off as if this whole event was nothing more than an inconvenience.

Hermione patted Narcissa on her shoulder, trying her hardest not to throw Draco a disapproving look. As expected, the media were in attendance and any disharmony between the chief mourners would be seized upon with glee.

“Narcissa,” Hermione whispered soothingly, as the older woman remained in the front pew. “Come on, it’s time to go.”

“Oh yes,” Narcissa replied. “The unveiling.”

Lucius’ widow rose, tottering a little in the pump heels she was wearing, so Hermione tucked her hand around her elbow, giving Narcissa some support. Curious as she was, Hermione knew now was not the time to ask Narcissa what an unveiling was.

Twenty minutes later, they stood in the gallery where Malfoy paintings lined the walls. Hermione found herself standing next to Millicent. 

“So, Lucius’ portrait is to be unveiled?” she asked.

Millie nodded. “It’s tradition for it to be done here in the gallery, but the portrait can be moved later.”

Hermione nodded. She had seen portraits of various Malfoy relatives scattered throughout the Manor. Some of them had taken to hissing disapprovingly at her whenever they saw her, but there was one that Hermione had taken a liking to. It hung in the nursery, and was the portrait of a long dead Malfoy relative, Helena. Narcissa had explained that Helena was used as extra set of eyes and ears, able to keep an eye on the children and call for help if any was needed. Hermione had smiled at that; it took the idea of a baby monitor to new levels. 

She had been wary of the portrait at first, and had sought assurances from Draco that it would be moved if she had any nefarious plans towards their half-blood baby. Draco had shot her an amused glance, but when he had seen just how serious she was, he had agreed. Then he had taken her hand and introduced her to Helena officially. 

The portrait had cooed over Hermione’s small bump, asked a stream of questions about the pregnancy and about how Hermione was feeling that made Narcissa seem uninterested by comparison. Hermione had elbowed Draco hard in his side when he had told Helena of her fears, but the portrait had laughed them off, letting Hermione know that she was not offended. She had then sent Draco away for tea and told Hermione to pull up a chair.

“Has anyone told you anything about me?” she had asked Hermione, once Hermione was ensconced in a comfortable nursing chair.

Hermione had shaken her head.

“I didn’t think so. You see, I am often swept under the Malfoy carpet. The skeleton in the closet that they are ashamed of.”

“What did you do?”

“I fell in love with a Muggle.”

Hermione could not have helped just how round her eyes had grown at that statement. “Wha-? When?” she had stuttered inarticulately. 

“Oh, many years ago. I was alive in the fourteenth century, when the barrier between magic and Muggles was a lot thinner. We had Muggles working at the Manor then, and I fell in love with a stable-boy.”

Helena had gone quiet for a minute, her eyes growing sad as she seemed to shrink back into her memories. “Of course, my father found out,” she had whispered. “But I had fallen pregnant by then. He killed my lover and banished me to my room. I was not allowed to leave and I was refused any medical help. With the lack of support, my baby died a mere few hours after birth. It was only then that my father allowed the Healers to examine me. They declared that I was healthy but I was never allowed to the leave Manor grounds again. My father banished all our Muggle workers and a Muggle has never stepped foot in the grounds of Malfoy Manor since.”

Silence had fallen between them and Hermione had found herself crying. “I am so sorry,” she had said, the words feeling hopelessly inadequate. 

Helena had smiled. “I did not lead a very happy life, or indeed a very happy life as a portrait for a long time afterwards, until Draco’s grandmother unearthed me when she was pregnant with Lucius. She hung me in the nursery and I have been here ever since.”

By the time Draco had returned, Hermione had been chatting with Helena with the ease of an old friend. 

Now, Hermione felt the tears pool in her eyes as Draco drew back the velvet curtain that covered Lucius’ portrait and she looked upon his face once more. It was strange to think that this man had actively fought against her existence in the magical world for most of his life. All the anger she had felt towards him had disappeared. All she could think was that her baby would only know its paternal grandfather as a painting on the wall, and she wished once more that a cure could have been found. 

Once the curtain that had covered his portrait had been opened, Lucius opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as if waking from a deep sleep. He scanned the small crowd who had been invited for this intimate ceremony before catching Narcissa’s eye. Hermione watched, her heart aching painfully, as the Malfoy widow moved forward, tears streaming freely down her face, her outstretched fingers trembling as she stroked Lucius’ painted cheek. Narcissa did not move as Lucius exchanged greetings with those present, and soon it was just Narcissa, Draco, and Hermione left.

Lucius turned his grey eyes to her for the first time, and Hermione was struck by how dull they seemed compared to the real ones that had gazed at her just over a week ago, smiling at something Narcissa had said. It was Lucius but not Lucius at the same time, and this was probably the one aspect of magic that Hermione had the hardest time adapting to, even after all these years. 

“Take care of the little one,” the portrait said, as Draco reached out for her hand, leading her away from the gallery and back down to the ballroom where the guests were milling about.

“Should we not wait for Narcissa?” Hermione asked as they turned the corner, craning her neck to check that the other woman was fine. 

“No, she wants to spend some time with Father.”

“Draco, are you sure you are ready to go down right now?”

“It is my duty,” Draco replied, eyes staring ahead as they approached the head of the main staircase. “My father would not wish for me to leave our guests unattended for long.”

Hermione wished she could voice more concern. That she could drag on his arm to stop him relentlessly marching into the ballroom. Wished that she was familiar enough to force him to look at her by twisting his head around, and that she could just break through this icy barrier Draco had erected. But she wasn’t, and so she rather helplessly followed him downstairs, anxiously watching as he made polite small talk with the other mourners, looking for all the world as if this was an everyday occurrence.

\-----------

The twenty-week scan was meant to be a happy moment. A time where they would find out the sex of the baby, and the planning could really commence. It had been the moment Hermione had marked in her calendar from the beginning of her pregnancy.

But with Draco walking stiffly at her side, she was feeling anything but excited. Instead, there was anxiety. Worry that he would stay withdrawn and that their relationship would go backwards, the mutual trust dissipating in the face of his cold demeanour. _Give him time_ , she told herself for the umpteenth time, but the bubble of unease would not pop. There had been nothing from Draco. Not even a slight crack in the wall he had assembled around himself. 

Hermione had hoped that it had been built to help him get through the funeral. A much needed defence so that he could organise and deal with all the bureaucracy that had descended unfairly on a mourning family. But the funeral had been five days ago, and there was still nothing from Draco.

She could not fault the attention he gave his mother: he made sure Narcissa was well cared for, and that she did not sit for days in front of Lucius’ portrait. But his continued lack of emotion made Hermione’s palms itch with a desire to slap him until he did something other than use that emotionless tone when speaking to everyone around him.

Now, there was an overlying feeling of irritation as they walked from the clinic at St. Mungo’s. There had been nothing from him, no reaction when the sonographer had announced that they were expecting a little girl. The swell of emotion that rushed up from where she could feel the baby kicking gently had dissipated with the cool thanks Draco had uttered. The beaming smile and flush of excitement in her own cheeks had contrasted sharply with the lack of _anything_ on Draco’s face. 

Hermione waited until they were out of sight of the main hospital before she grabbed his wrist, dragging him down a quiet road leading off Oxford Street with a speed that had Draco staring in shock.

“What?” he snapped.

“Just what is this? Are you annoyed the baby isn’t a boy?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“One I want you to answer!” she replied angrily. 

“Of course I don’t care that the baby is not a boy.”

“Or maybe you don’t care at all!” she said, her temper rising.

Part of Hermione, the part that was objectively watching their stand-off, was pleased to see the flood of colour that rushed into his cheeks, staining them a deep red. 

“I am so sorry I’m not jumping with joy right now. It may have escaped your attention, but my father is barely cold in his grave.”

“No! You do not get to do that! You do not get to act as if I am being unreasonable in asking for something from you. Even Narcissa has shown more interest in this scan than you have, Draco.”

His face twisted into the mocking sneer she had not seen since their Hogwarts days. For a brief minute, she wished for a return of his blank look. 

“I am _so_ sorry to rain on your happy parade, Granger, but we can’t all be skipping around as if everything is sunshine and roses.”

“I’m not asking for that. I’m not asking for you to pretend anything, but this is _our_ baby, Draco.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Something! _Something_ other than this ice encrusted version of you that is running on autopilot.”

“I thought you just said you didn’t want me to pretend.”

Anger suffused his face and his shoulders were so tense they looked as if they were about to crack that all her rage suddenly abated. She reached out. “Draco, if you would just let me in. I can help you. _We_ can help you,” she said, her other hand reaching down to touch the bump.

Draco shoved her hand away and spat, “No one can help. Not you or your baby.”

Hermione reared back as if he had struck her. _Her baby_? It had been a long while since Hermione had thought of the baby in those terms. At one point, it had been all that she had wanted: Draco to wash his hands of the whole situation and pretend as if the baby did not share any part of him. But that had been before they had struck up this – at first, tentative – friendship. When the thought of dealing with the Malfoy family on a daily basis was nothing short of distasteful. 

“ _My_ baby?” she whispered before swirling away from him and disappearing back into the heaving mass that was Oxford Street, tears pouring down her face.

\---------

Draco stared for a long while at the empty space in front of him. _What is wrong with you?_ he asked himself. He had no idea why he had said that.

_Yes, you do! You wanted to hurt someone as much as you are hurting and Hermione was an easy target._

He flinched from the truth of his thoughts. He _had_ wanted to lash out. To be cruel and nasty. To inflict some damage on someone else. Just something that would drive away the anguish he felt every day, even for a brief moment. 

The problem was that he now felt worse than ever. 

He had been thrilled at seeing the little grey and white image on the screen. _Our little girl_ , he had thought as he had gazed on Hermione’s flushed cheeks and big grin. He had never seen her happier, but even that realisation, and the tenderness that had curled itself sweetly in the pit of his stomach, had not been able to break the rigid control he was maintaining over himself. He had feared that even a smile would cause his composure to break and the thick sobs that coated the throat at the thought of his father would claw their way out. He shied away from doing such a thing in the middle of St. Mungo’s and, if he were honest, from breaking down in front of Hermione. He also wasn’t sure he would be able to stop if he started. His rigid control was the only thing stopping him from collapsing right now.

 _And look where that has gotten you_ , the little voice in his head said snidely, sounding remarkably like Professor Snape, which seemed apt. Had he followed in the footsteps of his old Head of House and destroyed a friendship because of his inability to open up?

 _Pride_ , he thought. _Over weaning pride was the curse of the Malfoy family._

A rush of anger infused him. He had destroyed all that he had painstakingly built over the past ten or so weeks. She would never trust him now. Not after those harsh words. He scuffed the floor with his foot, kicking a small pebble angrily across the pavement.


	20. Breaking Down the Walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here we go, the last proper chapter of TAM! It's only taken me a ridiculous amount of time to get to this final chapter but I'm happy to finally have it written. I do plan an epilogue and hope to get started on that this week.
> 
> My thanks to pagan for putting her illness and real life aside so she could beta this for me.

Draco said in the dark gloom of his study. The thick velvet curtains were pulled tightly across the windows. He wasn’t sure where his mother was, but he would be surprised if she wasn’t holed up in her rooms. She rarely came out any more, but when she did, he found the grief that ravaged her face hard to cope with. 

He took another sip from the tumbler of Firewhiskey he held in his hand. He remembered a time when he had thought his life would be easier if his father was dead, when he’d been faced with the reality of the task he had been given by the Dark Lord. Back then, he had wished that he’d been born into an easier family, one where his father hadn’t been a Death Eater who’d screwed up. Now, the guilt of those thoughts chased through his mind, eating their way into his soul. 

As if looking to cause maximum pain, Draco’s thoughts turned towards Hermione and he mentally shied away. No matter how befuddled his mind was, he was aware of just how much he had messed that up. He had not seen or heard from her since their confrontation in the street four days ago. He knew he needed to mend the bridges, to go and apologise, on his knees if necessary, but the thought of those angry brown eyes burning into his had him running away instead of dealing with the problem. 

_Some things never change_ , he thought bitterly. He had always been good at running away. 

The _whoosh_ of the Floo Network failed to rouse him from his bitter reminiscing. However, the harsh sunlight that intruded, making his eyes squint against its glare, did. 

“What the—” He moaned as the next curtain was whipped back, the brass rings rattling from the force of the pull. 

“This is an intervention,” came the firm tone of Pansy Parkinson. 

He looked up and saw his bossy best friend bearing down on him, Millicent not far behind. 

“Oh, go away!” he mumbled, not in the mood for his overpowering best friend. 

A forceful finger found its way under his chin, pushing his head up from where it had flopped against his chest. “This is ridiculous, Draco. You need to pull yourself together.” 

“Easy for you to say. You still have a dad.” 

“Yes, but I lost my mum, if you remember, when I was twelve. So, save the self-pity for someone else.” 

A flush of shame coloured his cheeks. How had he forgotten that? He had held out endless tissues to a weeping Pansy in the Slytherin common room. 

The tumbler of Firewhiskey was forcibly removed from his hand and replaced with a tall glass of clear liquid. He highly doubted it was a gin and tonic and a small sip confirmed it was water. He screwed his mouth up in distaste. 

“Give me my drink back!” It was meant as an order, but instead of commanding, his voice came out thin and reedy. 

_Pathetic_ , he thought. _This is what I have been reduced to: a whining, pitiful man-child._  

“No,” Millicent said robustly. “You are sobering up, and then you are getting back out in the real world and supporting your mother as you promised your father you would.” 

Millie didn’t mention Hermione or the baby, but Draco was positive he could hear the criticism of his neglect of them in her tone, too. 

Draco winced at the reminder. “She hasn’t come out of her room for days.” 

“Oh, really?” Pansy asked sarcastically. “Then just who was it who showed up at my house asking for my help?” 

The guilt intensified, settling heavily at the bottom of his stomach. “But—” he started to say. 

“No excuses, Draco. It is _you_ who hasn’t been out. Hermione has been carrying all the slack around here. She’s been the one sitting with Narcissa and helping her come to terms with Lucius’ death.” 

“Hermione’s been here?” he asked sharply. 

He wasn’t so drunk that he missed the look that passed between the two women. 

“Yes, she’s been here,” Pansy replied in a subdued tone. 

Draco dropped his head into his hands. He was so far out of it that he hadn’t even realised Hermione had been in the house—several times, by the sounds of it. 

“Merlin, I’m pathetic!” He moaned when he realised he had said it out loud. 

A potion vial was shoved into his free hand and he tipped it back without even waiting to hear what it was. The room spun wildly for a few seconds before his mind cleared and a headache crashed into the front of his head with a vengeance. “Bloody hell!” he swore. 

“Draco!” Millicent remonstrated. “You should at least wait until I tell you what you’re drinking.” 

“Millie, you gave it to me. I doubt you would want to poison me. You’ve had better opportunities than the one today.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said bitingly. “You were at least two sheets to the wind and a _very_ tempting target.” 

“Give over, woman, and hand me that hangover potion you’re hiding about your person somewhere.” 

Millicent held the vial just slightly out of his reach, forcing him up out of his chair, his legs almost giving away under the strain, and having to lean halfway across his desk before he managed to snag it off her. He chugged it back quickly, and felt relief as the headache abated and it no longer hurt to open his eyes. 

“Nice to have you back with us, Draco,” Millie said. 

“Okay, so intervention has been achieved. What’s next on your list? And don’t even try to say you don’t have a list,” he said pointedly. 

“By the smell of you, a shower just promoted itself up to second place,” Pansy said with a grimace. 

“Seriously, Draco, when was the last time you changed your clothes?” Millie asked, dramatically holding her nose. 

He didn’t answer that as he couldn’t remember. His last coherent memory was storming through the Floo Network after his argument with Hermione, and coming straight here to seek oblivion. 

“Bloody women,” he muttered under his breath as he lurched out of the study and headed up to his room. 

\---------

Feeling more human after a shower, a fresh set of clothes, and a much needed mug of tea, Draco made his way back down to his study. There had been a flurry of activity in the room in the forty minutes he had been upstairs. All the curtains were flung back, bathing his study in a glow of warm yellow light. The windows, too, had been opened, allowing the scent of his mother’s rose garden to permeate the room. His desk and the coffee table in front of the fireplace had been cleared of the empty bottles and dirty, food-encrusted plates. The coffee table now boasted an array of delicious smelling dishes that had his stomach complaining about its treatment over the past few days. 

“Come and eat something, Draco,” Millicent said. 

Walking over to the armchair which sat at a ninety degree angle to the sofa currently occupied by Millie and Pansy, Draco sat and pulled an empty plate over, browsing over the dishes before selecting a halved and buttered English muffin and scooping some scrambled eggs on top. 

There was silence as he demolished his food, his head bent and focused on the task at hand. It was not until he had wiped his mouth with a napkin and poured himself a cup of coffee that he looked up at his two friends. They stared at him, identical expressions of amusement on their faces. 

“What?” he asked defensively. “I was hungry.” 

“So I see,” Pansy replied, delicately sipping her coffee. “Narcissa did say she could not remember the last time you ate.” 

Draco wanted to snap back the exact time just to prove a point, but realised that he couldn’t even remember. Everything was a daze of blurry images and tut-ting house-elves. He wasn’t even sure just how much time had elapsed since he’d returned home from the appointment at the hospital, angry and disappointed with himself. He spotted the _Daily Prophet_ resting at the corner of the coffee table and quickly snatched it up. According to the date, he had been out of it for six days. Not as bad as he feared, but it would make grovelling to Hermione a little difficult. 

“Hermione’s been here then,” he commented, trying to sound off-hand but just sounding anxious instead. 

He winced when Pansy’s eyes met his; hers softened considerably at the nervous note in his tone. “Yes,” she said. 

“Have you seen her?” he asked. 

Pansy shook her head. Draco turned to Millie, who also shook her head and said, “She doesn’t have an appointment with me for another couple of weeks.” 

“Great. That means a pleasant chat with my mother.” 

But first, Draco needed to replenish his body and he filled his plate up once more. It might look like stalling, but there was no point trying to face the complete hash he had made on a hungry stomach.

\-------------

Draco found Narcissa in her private sitting room an hour later. Lucius’ portrait held the place of pride, hanging resplendently over the fireplace. 

“You are alive then?” Narcissa asked disapprovingly as he entered. “I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to organise a second Malfoy funeral in less than a month.” 

Draco winced at her cutting tone and deliberately failed to catch the eye of Lucius’ portrait, which was looking at him as if he were something a Kneazle had dragged in. 

“I am sorry for my lack of control, Mother,” he said formally. 

She sighed and turned to face him fully then, her hands putting down the embroidery she had been occupying herself with. Guilt spread through him as he saw the deep purple bruises under her eyes and the new lines that now marred her forehead, as if she had spent the last few days frowning. 

“Oh, Draco!” she said. “You are as much of a fool as your father was at times.” 

Whilst the words were discouraging, she smiled affectionately at him and patted the sofa next to her. He sank down onto the comfortable, overstuffed sofa and Narcissa put a hand on his knee. “You have made a mess of this, my boy,” she said softly. 

“I know.” 

“You hurt her a lot with your words and actions.” 

He did not even need to ask who his mother was referring to. 

“Do you think she can forgive me?” 

“It depends,” his mother said. “Are you prepared to let her in?” 

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

She smiled sadly at him then. “Do you remember the conversation we had when this whole fiasco started?” 

Draco nodded. How long ago that felt, when in reality it had been little more than three months past. 

“Do you remember how I wished you had divorced Astoria years ago?” 

He snorted. “Yes; well, you got that wish.” 

“I did, and this house is much happier for it. I also expressed a desire for you to marry again – _happily,_ this time.” 

“And I said I would not remarry,” Draco said. 

“I told you that you would find the right woman who would make you change your mind, and you have, Draco, you _have_ found her.” 

“If I remember correctly, you had some less than complimentary things to say about Hermione.”

Narcissa laughed. “You’re right, I did, and it is proof that even I can be wrong sometimes.” She leaned forward then, taking his hand in hers. “She’s the one, Draco. The woman who can –who _has–_ made you happy. When we had that conversation, you were so unhappy and stressed. You looked years older than your age and I was worried that all the anxiety was going to drive you into an early grave. But before—” Narcissa hesitated, stumbling over her words before taking a deep breath and continuing, “before your father died, you were happier and more carefree than I had seen you since before the war. _She_ did that, Draco.”

“And I ruined it. With one stupid sentence, I ruined everything.”

“Yes, you did, but it is not hopeless. She is angry and hurt, but she cares, my boy.”

Draco stood then and paced agitatedly around the room. “You can’t know that, Mum, you can’t.”

“No, I cannot know it, but I can see it, and I’ve seen it every time she has come here and gazed wistfully at your study door when she had to walk past it.”

“She was probably thinking about all the nasty hexes she could throw my way,” he said pessimistically.

“I have no doubt that she has thought of a good few, but that does not bring sadness to your eyes or have you cradling your baby bump defensively.” 

For the first time since his father’s death, hope infused Draco’s soul. If he could just make this right, if Hermione would realise just how much regretted his words, then there was a possibility they could regain all the trust he had destroyed in one angry moment. 

“How do I make this right?” he asked, uncertain of how to proceed, never having found himself in this position before. 

Narcissa stood and came towards him, cupping his face between her hands. “You have to be honest with her and tell her just how much she means to you. No ducking out, Draco. No feeling scared to open up and let someone else in. You have spent the last six weeks or so running away from your feelings, afraid to confront what you know deep down, but Hermione is not going to except less than all of you. She will demand your honesty and you will have to give her that. You _owe_ her that.” 

Draco gulped, fear of rejection and of being found wanting swallowing all his optimism for a brief moment before he steeled his backbone and nodded determinedly. Now was the time find his courage and marshal it. 

\---------

 Hermione could hear Ginny rooting through her cupboards, getting more frantic with each one she opened. There was a final bang and a stomp of footsteps as Ginny made her way back into the living room. 

“How can you not have a single olive in the house, Hermione?” she asked disconsolately, lowering herself down onto the sofa with the clumsy grace of a woman a few days past her due date. 

“Because firstly, the smell of them made me sick, and then just looking at them made me run to the bathroom.” 

“That was weeks ago.” Her red-headed friend said with a moan. “If I could just have an olive, then I _know_ this baby would reward me and finally come out.” 

Hermione smiled. Ginny’s craving for salty food when pregnant was legendary, with olives being her favourite snack of all. 

“The baby will come, olives or not,” Hermione said cheerfully. 

“It’d better. The midwife is threatening to induce me if the baby hasn’t made an appearance by the end of next week.” 

“You’d think someone would have created a potion to make all of this easier,” Hermione said. 

Ginny chuckled. “There are some things not even magic can help with. Witch or Muggle, the biology of pregnancy remains the same.” 

Patting her small bump, Hermione said, “Thank goodness! If it was dramatically different, then my mum would really panic. At least this is an experience we can both share.” 

The further Hermione’s pregnancy advanced, the more excited her parents became. Gone was their disapproval of her actions, driven away by the dawning realisation that they were to be grandparents, and whilst they might not have come around to Draco, Hermione knew they would not show any of their dislike of the father to their grandchild. 

The thought of Draco brought a familiar ache to her chest. He had yet to show up to apologise for his words and the longer he left it, the deeper the chasm between them felt. Would he want to play a part in their child’s life, or had he now decided to wash his hands of them both? 

“Stop it!” Ginny ordered. 

“Stop what?” 

“Thinking about him and worrying. If he’s going to be a giant arse, then he doesn’t deserve to have you and the baby in his life. Besides, it will be his loss.” 

Never had Hermione been more grateful for the support system she had around her than over the past week. The Weasleys and Harry had rallied around, refusing to allow her to wallow in her misery. Narcissa had sent over several lunch invites, refused to take no for an answer, and had declared that whilst her son might be a fool, there was nothing that would keep Hermione from being welcome at the Manor. It had been surprising but welcome. 

The whoosh of her Floo Network startled Hermione and caused Ginny to swear. Rising rapidly from the sofa and walking into the small room that doubled as her study and Floo connection, Hermione stopped, blood draining from her face as she saw who stood shaking the soot from his robes on her hearth. 

_He looks thinner_ , was Hermione’s first thought, followed by a rush of blood to her head as anger thrummed through her body. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked stormily, her frosty gaze taking in the huge bouquet of flowers that hung precariously from one hand. 

“I came to apologise,” Draco replied with a distinct lack of apology in his tone and he held out the flowers. 

“Are those meant to placate me?” 

Draco looked lost for a moment when she refused to move forward to take them from him. “Well…yes.” 

Hermione raised an eyebrow and was surprised to see the colour flood into Draco’s cheeks. He turned, fumbling with the unwieldy bouquet before placing them haphazardly on her desk. “I…er…I was out of order,” he said, turning back to face her, his arms awkwardly hanging down his side. 

“And it took you six days to realise that.” 

“No, I knew it as soon as the words left my mouth.” 

“So, what? You just decided to wait six days before coming to tell me that?” she asked, her temper causing her voice to rise on the last couple of words. 

“Hermione?” came a shout from Ginny in the living room. “Who is it? Is everything okay?” 

“It’s Malfoy and he’s just leaving,” Hermione called back. 

“No, I’m not!” Draco yelled. 

“Yes, you _are!_ ” Hermione hissed. 

“Do you need me to come in there?” Ginny asked, sounding clearly concerned. 

“No, it’s okay. I can deal with Malfoy.” 

“Just give a shout should you need any help. I find that pregnancy enhances my Bat Bogey Hex,” Ginny shouted somewhat maliciously. 

“She’s right, by the way,” Hermione said. “Her brothers will be happy to testify to that and if you don’t leave by the time I count to three, then I will let her use it on you.” 

“Please, Hermione, just hear me out,” Draco said. 

“And why should I?” 

“Because I want to make this right for the sake of our baby.” 

“Oh, so it’s _our_ baby once more?” 

Draco signed and pulled a hand through his hair agitatedly. “Look, I’m no good at this. I never have been, but I know that if I want to rebuild whatever trust we had before, then I need to apologise.” 

“So you are only apologising to make things easier for you, and not because you should?” Hermione asked, intensely annoyed by his tactless words. 

“No! No! That’s not what I meant,” Draco said, frustration leeching into his voice. “I really am rubbish at this, Hermione, and you’d think with my track record that I would have some experience but really I don’t, so I’m making a right mess of this, but if you would just hear me out.” 

Hermione felt herself softening in light of his honesty and anxiety. She folded her arms, keen not to appear as a pushover, knowing that if she just forgave Draco outright, then he would have no motivation to actually let her in. “Go on, I’m listening.” 

He moved a couple of steps closer to her and reached his arms out as if to cup her shoulders before thinking better of it and letting them drop back to his side. “I messed up, not only with what I said after the scan, but in blocking you out. It’s just I’ve never been very good at letting anyone in,” he said before laughing bitterly. “The last person I opened up to was Astoria, and you saw how well that turned out.” 

“I’m not Astoria, Draco, and I thought you realised that.” 

“I do. It’s just—” He hesitated for a moment, obviously looking to regain some composure before he took a deep breath and opened his mouth once more. “It goes against the grain with me, okay? I’m not good at letting anyone in, not even Pansy, and then the mix-up at the lab happened and suddenly you and I are linked. Somehow, despite the hostility, we managed to get past the fighting and the suspicion. Merlin’s beard, we even weathered Astoria and her crazy stunt and, suddenly, you’re not just this pain in the arse who is carrying my child, but you’re a friend, and one who has managed to worm her way into the centre of my world. My mother adores you, and my father—even my father— sang your praises before, you know…” He broke off again, taking a deep breath before restarting. “But you’ve become important to me, and not just because you’re carrying our child, but because you’re you. Then my father dies, and it all becomes too much, and I’m not prepared for all the emotion. I’ve never been any good at dealing with emotion.” 

Draco stopped, and Hermione could see that his hands were shaking. He smiled at her before looking down at his feet and she found that all the affection for him that she had spent the past week pushing down and turning into anger and resentment resurfacing. Maybe he wasn’t a lost cause. 

Draco lifted his head once more, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that had her shivering delightfully. “I’ve survived the last decade by controlling my emotions and not letting all the disappointments affect me. But you drove a sledgehammer through my walls, Hermione, and I wasn’t prepared for it. I’ve tried to resurrect them and regain that control, but all I did was hurt you and hurt myself.” 

Taking another deep breath and steeling his shoulders, Draco stepped closer to her and raised a hand, his fingers brushing softy down one of her cheeks, leaving tingles in its wake. “You want to know what I’ve been doing for the past six days?” 

Hermione nodded mutely, unable to give voice to the answer due to her heart pounding so heavily. 

“I was drinking myself into oblivion in the hope that I could bury all these pesky feelings you’ve drawn out of me. I swore once I divorced Astoria that I was done with women, but I hadn’t counted on a pesky, stubborn, intense, amazing and wonderful witch to prove me wrong.” 

“I take it you mean me?” she asked unsteadily, desperate to hear the answer. 

Draco laughed shakily. “Yes, I mean you. I didn’t intend to even like you, let alone fall in love with you when this whole thing started.” 

“You love me?” 

He hesitated before nodding, almost as if he was deciding whether to lay all of his feelings out for her to see. “Please tell me that I haven’t scuppered any opportunity I had with you.” 

Hermione could not help but be glad that he had; she knew she would accept nothing from him unless he gave her everything. She would not put herself through any more hurt at this man’s hands. “Oh Draco!” she said huskily, grabbing his left hand and squeezing it gently with her own. “You so very nearly ruined it all.” 

“Please tell me that you’ll give me another chance.” 

“Only if you promise to continue to be this honest with me.” 

Draco laughed self-consciously. “I can’t promise, but I will try. It doesn’t come easily to me.” 

“That’s all I ask for,” Hermione said, reaching up to pull his face down to hers. 

A sob escaped her throat as his lips met hers and she muttered, “Stupid pregnancy hormones.” 

Draco drew back and caught a tear on the end of a finger. “And here was I hoping that you would have a different kind of pregnancy hormone.” 

She laughed at that, happy for such a silly moment after the intensity of the conversation. “My pregnancy hormones have yet to ascertain whether you’re any good at kissing before they head in _that_ direction.” 

“I would hate to keep them waiting,” Draco murmured before pressing his lips against hers.

Hermione was cheeked and swollen-lipped by the time they were interrupted by a strained call from the living room. “Er…I hate to break up whatever is happening in there—and please tell me it’s only kissing—but I think my waters broke!”

Hermione giggled happily, wiped the tears from her face, and called back, “Good job you brought your baby bag!”

Pushing Draco towards the Floo Connection, Hermione said, “Go track Harry down. We’ll meet you at the hospital.”


	21. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here it is, the Epilogue and this fic is _finally_ finished.
> 
> Many thanks to pagan who has put in many hours sorting out my grammar and making this story read so much better, as well as answering random plot questions. You've been great, P! Also thank you to arosesinnocence for her help with the first 3 chapters.
> 
> And thank you to A River in Egypt who has spent the past 2.5 years responding to endless emails regarding this story and who has supplied much needed cheerleading at times. It's really appreciated, M! 
> 
> And last, but definitely _not_ least, thank you to all of you readers who have patiently waited for updates months and months apart with very little complaining. A big thank you to those of you who have reviewed as it's often been getting reviews on a chapter that has kicked me into writing more.

Hermione could not remember feeling quite so exhausted. Not even during that last year of the war all those years ago when she had never had quite enough sleep or enough to eat, when the fear had been so palpable it had clenched Hermione’s gut and made it difficult to sleep. That had been more like a slow grind, a never ending tension of tightened nerves and sleepless nights where the worry had eaten into her soul, that had dragged on for months. Even in the euphoria after the final battle—with Harry alive, Voldemort finally gone, and the anxiety that she might actually die having dissipated— there had remained a deep sense of sadness for all those lost.

This – this was something else entirely. Adrenalin pumped through her body and made her limbs shake uncontrollably. Hermione had not been prepared for the pain of child birth; for all that her mother had likened it to slightly stronger menstrual cramps, for all the books that she had read to prepare herself for the moment, the pain had still come as a surprise. Then there had been the sheer physical exertion being of in labour for twenty hours and that last frantic thirty minutes, where her body had taken on a life of its own, and she had been compelled to push.

Now, as Hermione gazed down on the tiny body that lay on her stomach, she could feel nothing but awe. She and Draco (and a clinic in Switzerland, but she refused to dwell on that), had created this perfect little baby and all the pain of the past day receded far into the past as the baby lay naked, apparently as exhausted as she was, on her bare tummy. Skin to skin time Millie had called it when she had asked if Hermione had wanted to do this straight after birth. Apparently, it helped create a bond faster between mother and baby. All Hermione could think was that it gave her an opportunity to really see her daughter—from the dark fuzz of hair that covered her head to the impossibly tiny hands and toes that curled in on themselves.

A hand came from behind and swept a few straggling strands of Hermione’s hair back from her forehead and a kiss was placed on her cheek before Draco settled himself beside her.

“She’s perfect,” Draco said, as he leaned forward to brush a trembling finger lightly down the baby’s back.

Their daughter squirmed slightly and Draco jumped back like a scalded cat. “Oh Merlin, I didn’t hurt her, did I?”

Hermione laughed, the sound as breathless and shaky as she felt. “I doubt it. Molly assures me that newborns are harder to break than they look. It was probably just shock.”

“Here we go, mummy,” the midwife said, coming over with a towel and scooping the baby off her tummy. “Time to get little baby dressed and weighed, whilst you get some stitches put in.”

Hermione wanted to protest, wanted this moment to last forever, but the midwife was gone in a flurry of activity along with her daughter. Draco stopped long enough to kiss her on the forehead before he too disappeared, obviously keen to see what was happening next with his daughter.

It left Hermione in the hands of the senior midwife, who held out a clear vial of anaesthetic. “Something to help numb the pain whilst I stitch up that tear.”

It was at least forty minutes before Hermione saw her baby again. The midwife had stitched her up in record time and Hermione had transferred from the birthing room to a room across the corridor where she now lay, feeling a little fresher thanks to a new nightgown and a cup of tea. The baby was cradled in Draco’s arms, dressed in a pale yellow babygrow that had ‘hello world’ printed across the front as they walked into the room.

“Mummy’s all finished now, Iris,” Draco said, a tender smile on his face as he looked down at their daughter.

“I was thinking that we shouldn’t call her Iris,” Hermione said. “Not for the first name anyway.”

Draco frowned. “But you love that name. You had it all picked out even before you were pregnant.”

“I know,” Hermione said. “But I was thinking it would be nice to call her Lucia.”

Draco’s eyes flew to hers, a small silence stretching between them, before he asked, “Are you sure?”

She nodded and anxiously twisted the blanket in between her fingers as she awaited Draco’s response.

A smile lit up his face. “My mother would like that very much, as would I,” he said, his eyes shining with moisture.

 

\-------------

 

Draco was not sure there had ever been such an unlikely trio sitting around Molly Weasley’s kitchen table before. A decade or so ago, such a grouping would have ended with wands out and hexes flying.

_And me strewn on the floor with something nasty on my face_ , he thought with a smile.

Happiness had a funny way of reducing painful past incidents into something that could be faced with a smile; that, and the fact that he had been horrid little git who had deserved so many of the hexes sent his way by Potter and his friends.

“Pfft, the rubbish they pass off as journalism these days,” Ron said with a scowl, throwing the latest edition of _Witch Weekly_ across the vast table that took up most of the space in the Burrow’s well-used kitchen.

The magazine landed close to him and Draco winced as he saw the offending article once more.

_‘Mistress turned Malfoy Gives Birth_

_War veteran and spouse stealer, Hermione Granger, presented new husband, Draco Malfoy, with a little girl. Sources close to the couple say they are thrilled to be celebrating a new life after the tragic loss of the Malfoy family patriarch, Lucius, earlier this year.’_

The article continued in a similar vein, presenting fact wrapped up in a salacious gossipy style. On the other side of the page was a large picture of his ex-wife, a forced woebegone expression on her face under the headline.

_‘Did Draco Ditch Pureblood Beauty for a Baby?_

Witch Weekly _reporter Rita Skeeter speaks to heartbroken ex-wife, Astoria Greengrass, about love, divorce, and her own desire for a baby despite fertility problems.’_

Draco snorted so hard that Lucia startled awake from where she was sleeping in his arms, setting up a thin reedy wail as she protested at having her nap disturbed. He got up, rocking the little bundle gently to try to encourage her back to sleep.

“Are you going to sue?” Ron asked, showing his experience of child-rearing by the nonchalant ease with which he ignored Lucia’s cries.

Not so practiced, Draco answered in a flustered tone, “No. Hermione was angry this morning and out for blood, but once she calmed down, we both agreed the extra attention was not needed at the moment.” 

Harry, with Lily serenely chewing chunks of bread on his lap, nodded his agreement. “There’s no point. They won’t apologise,” he said in the off-hand manner of someone who had already faced more than his fair share of issues with the Daily Prophet.

Lucia finally subsided, her eyes fluttering shut as the rocking motion lulled her back to sleep.

“Nice job!” Harry said with a smile.

Draco was just about to congratulate himself on not having woken Hermione, who was taking a much needed nap after being up half the night feeding Lucia, when the kitchen door swung open, and his wife walked in, hair tousled from sleep, and yawning.

“Was that Lucia I just heard?”

“Er…” Draco said.

“Yep, but she’s back to sleep. Draco handled her like a pro,” Ron said with a wink in Draco’s direction. “Need some coffee?”

“Oh yes, please!” Hermione said, smothering yet another yawn.

“Why don’t you go back to sleep?” Draco said.

Before she could answer, the back door banged open, George and Ginny barrelling through in a swirl of cold air.

“Hey!” Draco snapped. “Shut the door!”

Ginny rolled her eyes and said, “Relax, Draco! Lucia won’t get ill from a little fresh air.”

“She might!” he said, wrapping the fleece blanket closer around his daughter.

“Who’s up for a quick game of Quidditch?” George asked. “Or are we going to sit around gossiping all day?”

Draco felt the pull of desire. Since he had started playing again in the Sunday League, he had rediscovered just how much he loved flying. He’d had little opportunity to get out since Lucia was born, keen as he was to help Hermione out as much as possible.

His eyes turned involuntarily towards his wife, who was watching him with a small smile.

“Go on!” Hermione said, holding her arms out for Lucia. “It’s nearly feeding time anyway.”

“Are you sure?” Draco asked. “You could go and have a longer nap?”

“No, I feel great now and besides, you deserve some play time. You’ve put in as much time with Lucia as I have.”

Draco handed the little girl over to Hermione and stood. George nodded before turning to Harry with a questioning gesture.

“I’ll stay with the girls and Hermione,” Harry said.

“You have one hour!” Molly said sternly, bustling in from the living room, enchanted knitting needles following her. “Then dinner will be on the table.”

“Yes, Mum,” the three Weasley siblings chorused.

“Two against two,” George said. “I baggsy Ginny.”

“That’s not fair,” Ron whined.

“Hey! There’s nothing wrong with how I play!” Draco protested.

George, Ginny and Ron all snorted. “You forget, we all played with you at Hogwarts,” Ginny said.

“I resent that!”

“Save the anger for the game, Malfoy,” George said, amusement lacing his tone. “It might actually improve your play.”

“Some things never change,” Harry said, as he and Hermione listened to the bickering fade as the group made their way to the field behind the Burrow.

“But I’m glad some things do,” Hermione replied, as she gazed lovingly at the blond head of her husband disappearing down the back of the garden.

Lucia stirred against her, rooting around her chest as she smacked her little lips hungrily.

_I’m really glad some things do_ , she thought.


End file.
